SHE
Is laying in
bed with the door locked.
The curtains are drawn and the lights off.
The Notebook is in the DVD player.
An empty tub of ice cream is on the floor
Next to dozens of crumpled tissues.
Shes got her music blasting,
So no one can hear her sobs.
Her fingertips are smudged with black
From wiping away mascara stained tears.
Shes replaying their last conversation
thinking I'll never get him
back.
HE
Is sitting on the edge of his
bed with the door locked.
The curtains are drawn and the lights off.
Call of Duty in his xBox.
The controller is laying on the floor,
Right beneath the spot where he nearly
Punched the wall in his own frustration.
He's got the music blasting so loud
So nobody can hear his cries.
His hair's a mess from running his fingers through
it.
And he's replaying their last conversation
thinking she'll never take me
back.