Wanting To Be Right

It's so strange, the moment you realize the warm, warm home you shared has become a house. The magic has become plaster and tile. The words I love you lay on a couch in your heart and read old letters and cry soundlessly, but when the one you used to say them to says them with tears pouring down, they won't let you let them out. Because it wouldn't do any good now. Because you're not judgmental and you try to see the shades between black and white but you can't help but feel that that person, just doesn't deserve them.

Not anymore.

But you grieve for the words all the same, because you never wanted to be right about anything more badly than you wanted to be right about them.