“Nah!it never told me there’s be times like these…”

A perfect weekend, dreams seem close and you realize that she’s lived too long. She knows the signs – of nostalgia seeping into tonight. How its always been a boys game. The dreams come along over the skid marks and violent scars, she gets left behind, left out. Older, she knows your just playing your boy-games. Its ok. But its not. Too tightly tied in happiness she realizes she isn’t there or worse – a burden on a fast escaping mind. Old enough to hold onto pride but to chose to leave it unraveled, uncoiled. The tight spring of righteousness has faded in recent years, the greys are more lived in than the black/white. She holds on pride still, decides like she would, like she should have? Learnt lessons are hard to forget and threats get you nowhere.

She wants to slip off her clothes, erase the last few hours of her night, see it through your eyes… She only slips off her pride.

You sleep on the edges of the bed this morning, mattress yawing in between where there should only be skin. Then you hurt and all of a sudden you realize, the perfect weekend is done, you had your fun… your awake when she’s asleep and she when you drift away. She… she’s keeping her brave face on, rage under wraps as and is sociable, like-able, bending to break. She’ll end with you. Older you both know – the tantrums can be taken, the hurt gulped through tears all because there will be perfect weekends and a life thrown into the deal you cut.