With him I would finally enact, my dream as a little girl to walk down the isle.
His actions laced with parapraxis kept me sated, The meager spark he showed day to day left me hopeful.
After every tear, I look at bridal catalogs and pics of little feet on google pics.
I never saw it coming, the day I became used to this scapegrace, the lies and deceit my nicotine.
Every once in a while, red eyed, I pray to get out of this gelatinous fusion of grief.
But every time the opportune presents, I digress.
At the tip of my tongue sit mealy excuses, ready to be spat at anyone who dared ask why.
They taste queasy as they leave my lips, a bit salty combined with the lies that I tell myself.
Always I look at the door, all I need to do is walk out and never look back.