Woke up.

Had seen you.

In this beautiful house that it was mine.
I invited you to live in there, with me.
You accepted, we kissed.
But when you moved in, we weren't together anymore.
Instead, you brought your new girl.
And invited friends and family over.

I let you get away with everything.
Not being sure if it was fair, for me, to have opened my doors for you, just to witnessed an avalanche of strangers, enjoying what supposedly was mine, but now appeared to be yours. Feeling invaded, used. In such a subtle fashion.


You managed everything so politely, not seeming to push me apart, but without trying to make things easier for me. Enjoying without remorse. Acknowledging without taking responsibility for everything. Or anything.
At the very end, with a soft and tender companion, I analyzed the situation thoroughly... and decided to speak with you. Let you know that I couldn't handle it. That you (probably) would have to move out.

And I woke up.