Hypocrisy

I told you I knew how our story ends. I said I would turn away. You had found your sunshine, and I was supposed to be happy for you. Happy you could bask in the warmth of your sunshine, while I remained in the bittering cold.


But I haven't. I couldn't. As much as my head tells me to walk away, every fibre in me simply refuses to.


Does that make me a hypocrite? Perhaps.