"Once upon a time the last available move in the game was giving a person a tattoo on their face with a knife."

 

There was never any jealousy when I knew she was mine. People would go in and out of her life so swiftly I barely acknowledged their presence. Now with the sinking weight of her love disappearing I wonder if I want it back. It's a limbo type of love, never going anywhere just waiting with the slight hope that maybe just once we could, no forget it these hopes never got us anywhere. It was never a void trying to be filled it was never a shallow rebound it was just the childish urge to call something mine. Now the only move left is to push it all away and pull the troops back to polish our boots and poison our livers.