“So if you’re not talking to me again, which means you must’ve made up your mind cause i know i’ve made up mine. i’m tired of being your second, if-it-doesn’t-work-out choice. i’m tired of waiting for your replies and making up reasonable excuses in my head for why i don’t receive one. i’m done trying not to think about you during the days, and losing sleep when i can’t escape the thought of you at night. you planted seeds in my soul, let the flowers grow in the cracks of my bones, then stopped watering them, stopped caring.”well they’re dead now, so fuck you.
“I am tired of writing this story. The one in which you never stop leaving. The one in which I never stop waiting. I am tired of writing this story. The one in which you don’t love me at all. The one in which I love you more than I love myself. I am tired of writing this story. The one in which you never stop hurting me. The one in which I never stop looking back. This story is getting old now. Everybody’s tired. I am tired. By the time I am done with this sorry attempt at a poem, there won’t be any applause. Everybody’s heard this story a million times before. Even strangers shiver at the mention of your name without knowing why. I don’t just shiver. My knees stop working. My feet don’t move. I realize I am right where you left me. I am telling this story from the only place you know from the inside out. I am telling this story for the millionth time and in my own ways, I am crazy. I’m tired of telling this story. The ending isn’t ever any different. I am at the end of this sorry attempt at a poem and nobody is clapping. There isn’t anything beautiful about hanging on to what you have to let go of.”
“When he says he doesn’t love you anymore, roll your shoulders back and look him in the eye even when it feels like your ribs are breaking inward; like spider legs. When he digs up old aches that he swore he forgave you for, smile and ask him why he didn’t leave you sooner. Ignore the way the words feel like sandpaper running all the way up your throat to your mouth. When he blames you for mistakes that wear his face, do not scream. Do not cry. Tell him that there are boys who would be proud to say they’d love you. Tell him that in two years you won’t even remember his name and don’t let him see the way you can taste your own lie. When he leaves, ignore the howling in your blood and do not get up after him. Not even to lock the door. Do not, do not, DO NOT. Smell his shirts when you box them up to give them back. Not one. Swear off dating when you realize you’re chasing ghosts that wear his smile. It’s okay to cry over him. It’s even okay to forgive him. But do not go back to him if he did not know how to love you the first time. He won’t know how to do it the next.”
“Last night I got to love you like there’d never be anyone else.
This morning I woke up to the sound of you leaving.
You were packing your things and you were telling me you were sorry.
I watched you in silence and I didn’t ask you to stay.
When you were ready I walked you to the door and I closed all the windows.
I removed the ‘welcome’ doormat and I changed the locks because I know you’re going to come back.
You’re going to come back and you’re going to chose to love me then but by then, it’s going to be too late.
You can’t chose to not love me now and love me later because you’re scared or because you’re alone or because everything is caving in on you.
What I’m trying to tell you is that I love you but I know better now.
You’re never going to love me like I deserve and I shouldn’t have to keep waiting for you to get it right.”
“You don’t realize how much he ruined you until you start talking to someone new. You do not realize how much you miss the way he talked to you, the way he took care of you, until someone else tries to do those same things.You will think about the fact that you miss the way he was always there. You will think of the way his presence always calmed you and the way his touch lingered on your skin whenever he was gone.
You don’t realize how much you fucking ache for that familiarity, for the way you were comfortable and how normal it felt to love him. You don’t realize it but you look for it in everyone, and it keeps you up at night that you haven’t found anyone that can make you feel like he used to.
You don’t realize any of it till you meet someone new and think, oh god, maybe he could be someone that stays. The worst part is that you hardly recovered from the way the last guy tore you apart. The worst part is that it terrifies you to think that you could get attached to someone like that again, because it felt like you pinned your heart to your sleeve only for the needle to break through the skin. The idea of loving someone the way you loved him makes you sick because you never thought you’d ever have to find someone else to begin with.”
You told me that if I ever need you, no matter what time of day it is, that you’d be a phone call away. I called you last night at 3 am sobbing so hard my sheets couldn’t muffle the sound but you didn’t pick up. I don’t know if it’s just ironic or a sign.
I asked you who she was and you told me she was nobody. I wonder if you’ll say the same thing about me when she asks who I am.
When you told me about how you always feel sick I told you I would be there and do anything for you. But last night when I told you that I feel really sad sometimes you said that you didn’t have time to deal with my baggage. I guess you only have enough time for your own.
When you said you were tired, I couldn’t tell if you were saying you were tired of me or tired of us. I guess it was a combination of both, but apparently you’re not too tired for her. I don’t know if it’s life playing a joke or just me but I haven’t slept all fucking week.
I know forever is a long time, but you still promised it to me when your forever wasn’t yours to give away. Not when you promised it to every other fucking girl that made it easier for you to sleep at night.”