Pulling the sheets off my bare legs,
I quickly look for my pants in the dark,
struggling through it,
I look at the man sleeping next to me,
snoring so loudly, smelling of last night’s rum.
I quickly tear off a paper, and write,
“That was good, may we never see each other again.”
and that was that.
I run out of the building,
out in the open air,
which still smells of roses and lilies
of last night’s Valentine’s Day.
Picking up the rose from the street,
I think about the bouquet of roses I got last night.
It smelled like love, like it was supposed to.
But, last night was not love.
It was lust. It was a drug.
Our generation’s new favourite drug.
A night of extreme lust,
tearing the clothes apart,
craving for every bit of the body.
But where is the love?
Where is the passion of creating something beautiful?
When did making love turn into a monstrous act of
breaking hearts and promises?
No wonder no one wants to be good, kind and compassionate.
Gone are the days of exchanging love letters,
of talking on the phone,
of sitting on our brother’s bike,
and giggling and laughing,
until our parents come.
Gone are the days when exchanging gifts meant
making a playlist of favourite songs,
or making a card, or a cake, or writing a poem,
and not just sending across an Amazon gift card,
or drinking till you pass out.
What happened to our generation?
When did we stop caring about our feelings?
When did we become so scared of falling in love?
When did we stop being good?