cold of this climate 2

Every evening when I leave the room I wonder: what happened to us?
I see that you lit a candle, you hope to bring back the warmth we shared even as you know it is too late for that. You changed so suddenly to a harsh, cold and desolate landscape.
I was bringing summer to the house, changing the hangings, burning incense, waiting for you to come home each day. Now I'm waiting to leave, I can't wait to depart from you. Soon you will have no one to confide in, to share your day with, to cook for you.
I am not enamored by women like you, I will not be again, for you intentionally close down when men open up. I do not suffer from the pathology of loving women that do not show me love.
No more,  thanks to you, for that I am in gratitude!
Thank you for letting me in the door. Now that we do not need each other (anymore); I wish you well.
It seems like a cliche, like every man and woman have had these days, like we were playing out some age old drama, past lives with you seeped into this one and threw me so, so far. I spent many a night searching for answers and reasons and found only mystery and self-pity; yours and mine.

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