Turning tables

Then he left me at the table. He offered drinks just because I said no to his so-called god-world.

He’s the one who rejected the god-world, not me.

I live as a free spirit. I enjoy spending time with myself, but I don’t want to be alone anymore.

That’s what I told him, and he didn’t like it.

Because when the pain inside you is unbearable, it’s hard to let others in.

I understand him. I even applaud him for standing up for himself.

But I’ve been there. I’ve been the one leaving the table, again and again.

It only left me with loneliness and failure.

He doesn’t know that yet—he thinks he never fails.

But people do.

That’s why we’re here.

He doesn’t see that one day he’ll be a poem written by the weight of his own battles.

He thinks he owns the world.

Maybe he does.

But only his own world.

And it’s as small as an ant’Z.