Another morning, the same old light through the blinds.

Another morning, the same old light through the blinds. You're still sleeping, lost in whatever world your mind finds. I'm up before you, like always, making that first cup of tea. And there's no feeling, no flicker, no 'us' in 'me.' Used to be a warmth just knowing you were near, Now it's just the steady tick-tock of another lonely year. And the plain, cold fact of it is, I don't love you anymore. It's not a wound, not a fight, just a quiet, closed door. There's no grand reason, no dramatic, sudden break. Just a slow, silent emptying, for goodness sake. It's like looking at an old photograph, a stranger's face I see, And wondering when that person stopped being me. We talk about bills, what needs fixing, the dog's latest mess. Our conversations are functional, devoid of tenderness. You touch my arm sometimes, a reflex, a habit worn thin. And I feel nothing, just a slight, internal pulling-in. Remember those nights we'd get lost in each other's eyes? Now it's just two people, sharing space, under indifferent skies. And the plain, cold fact of it is, I don't love you anymore. It's not a wound, not a fight, just a quiet, closed door. There's no grand reason, no dramatic, sudden break. Just a slow, silent emptying, for goodness sake. It's like looking at an old photograph, a stranger's face I see, And wondering when that person stopped being me. try to recall the feelings, the rush, the desperate need. But it's like a dry riverbed, where nothing can take root or feed. No anger, no resentment, just a profound sense of "over." Like a book you've finished, and now you just want new cover. It's mundane, this ending, no fireworks or grand display. Just the slow, weary knowledge that I don't want to stay. And the plain, cold fact of it is, I don't love you anymore. It's not a wound, not a fight, just a quiet, closed door. There's no grand reason, no dramatic, sudden break. Just a slow, silent emptying, for goodness sake. It's like looking at an old photograph, a stranger's face I see, And wondering when that person stopped being me. I don't love you anymore, and the quiet truth just sits. No tears, no shouting, just these small, broken bits. It's just gone, faded out, like a distant, forgotten tune. And all that's left is the lonely silence, under the afternoon moon.