Your love felt stale.

Stale as a drunk man's morning breath.

Your presence always made me to scattered and hide.

I held my tongue to avoid to your looks of critic and rebuttals.

Jealously ran laps around my heart as you held longer conversations with others.

Short conversations or no conversations was the options for me.

The lack of interest in me and my hobbies became known as days carry on.

Short responses was the only motivation and praised given.

I love you, I know I do somewhere.

I know you did too but your actions seems so different than what you preach.