Often, you return to the room, 

Prepared to ask me your final question,

Your desperate need to know 

Against my refusal to answer.

“Will you ever love again after me?”

There, 

You said it. 

“No.”

I answered, stoic, 

Calmer than I expected.

You were my last straw. 

My heart refuses to carry another. 

My soul will bear witness no more.

I refuse to care enough again.

You broke me enough. 

My last straw 

Oby