The feelings are gone and they aren’t coming back.
I feel cold and bleak and like it like that.
Cynicism is like a cryptic shield.
As I let it become me, the nausea yields.
I’m sure the “bubbly” might resurface again.
But I’ll drown out the echo with other men.
I’m sorry if I hurt you, but I do not regret.
Those feelings were toxic, and I perceived them as threats.