back to the small smiles, short gazes

not a word said between them.

anything would be better than this misery.

they are not the same.

the eyes don't speak to each other,

their minds don't call to one another,

the smiles polite,

the glances awkward.

there are two things worse than love.

hatred

and

indifference.

hatred means you still care, in a way.

but you couldn't care less about me.

and that hurt more than anything else.