The day I called him my baby,
he fled like love had turned too shady.
I was meant to be the one to stray,
but my hunger for him begged me to stay.

Banished by his Italian flame,
he found my arms in Denmark’s rain.
He wasn’t the ace in my deck of hearts,
but something in his charm set him apart.

A cheap hotel I booked that night,
he came bearing an expensive wine.
He spoke about his diabetic life,
as I showed him my scars inside.

The twin beds couldn’t hold us apart,
we kissed, we fucked, collapsed in sparks.
Though he did not want to peak,
I swore to myself: I’ll make him complete.

So I took him home where ghosts still live,
where old heartbreaks no longer forgive.
I cooked, I cleaned, I played the wife,
while he etched me into his promised life.

We danced ourselves to sleep,
patiently waiting for dreams to flee,
just to touch each other once more,
til I finally make him goal.

He couldn’t wait to see me again,
his coat, his hug, that gentle end.
Little did I know, that was the last,
before our story joined my past.

He’d kept whispering: ”You are mine”,
and I became drunk on that line.
Red wine and butterflies in the executive room,
as I whispered back: ”You are too”.

Then a thunder cracked, my crown fell down,
suddenly the skies were covered with clouds.
He said the words that broke me fast,
as if he’d been a sociopath.

All I got from him was nothing,
when all I gave him was my everything.
I begged the truth from ghostly lips:
Was it distance, flaws, or someone else’s kiss?

But the truth cut deeper than a lie,
a wound I lived for, yet hoped to deny:
He wanted a woman who could carry his child,
not a Hagar heart who got exiled.

Now I sit with shattered trust
in the ashes of could-have-been dust.
Why did he build me to his highest skies,
just to push me down and watch me die?

I was just his little rebound,
easily found, sitting on the playground.
But I reached his hand of empathy,
like a stranger with the sweetest candy.

Still, something in him kept me attached,
a something no other men had.
He wasn’t Adonis or Romeo
but a fragile gift I couldn’t let go.

His laughter made my heart cringe,
a cringe that felt so good like an itch.
No cologne, no polished flair,
but pheromones danced in the air.

A joker, lovely as his singing voice,
bearing a face of a man and a cloak of a boy.
I was thinking: “I could have loved you”,
but he was the one who chose not to…



One fine day at the street of Copenhagen
when he bumps into me, carrying his children,
flashbacks flickers to him like Polaroid pictures,
while I cross the road, unbothered, no whispers…