Not surprised

All summer long, you took the time to wrap me up in ribbons.

September was a frenzy,

December kept us warm, 

but came February you went for the door. 

What hurts the most is that I could see you falling for me like a home made kite. And when the realization hit, you chose to crash and burn instead of letting me be the wind that lifts you up out of fear that eventually my strength would falter and the crash would be much, much worse. 

I guess it's true, when people say. What goes up must come down. 

But boy, how we flew. 

You were never much of a painter, so it doesn't strike me as odd when you left this work of art unfinished. Just like it doesn't strike me as odd that I want to keep painting. 

It doesn't strike me as odd when you asked me to dance and then walked away.