i'm not angry anymore.
just tired.
this is the second time in three days
that we've argued,
and i am tired.
and tomorrow i will wake up
more exhausted than i went to sleep.

you whine at the sound of
other people talking.
you give up at the first sign of failure
and cry at the smallest frustration —
but your frustration
is becoming mine,
you wield the ghosts of my suffering
even when you do not realise it.
and if i am ice, then you are flame.
i am cool indifference,
a heart made of snow
and forgotten trauma.
but you feel everything,
everything,
and burn with it.
and when you burn,
i have to remind myself who i am
just to dodge your wildfire.
i put up a wall of ice
empty my heart out
piece by piece
and pretend i feel nothing.
but ice —
ice melts
under flames.