The words that were never said. The words that creep in my head – your name that echoes, and the pain that follows.
You walk by, and I say not a word, because the things I want to say wouldn’t be heard. You would listen, but not hear. You would let my words travel in and out of your ears. Let them ring, and let them sing you a song of my hurting and a song of my yearning – for you and what we had.
The times before they turned bad, before you turned rotten Inside and out. How could a voice, once so soft, become so harsh? Your blunt words, stabbing me in the heart. Sometimes I think I should have stabbed you back, in the same place where your heart should be.
I want to hurt you the same way you hurt me. Maybe then I could break free from the sorries I continue to hold for a person who doesn’t deserve to hear them be told.
I feel guilty for how I act when I see you with someone else. I secretly wish I were the one walking by you and holding your hand, sitting together, listening to our favorite band. But I know it is not me, and we were not meant to be.
Even though I know it’s not you, I listen to our favorite song and dream it to be true. I blame myself for how we ended up. Maybe if I had acted differently, you would still be mine. Maybe if we had met at a different time.
Maybe if I had just let you let me down and shoved my hurt away, I wouldn’t be stuck in this place – this place filled with emptiness and sorrow, waiting for it to be tomorrow so I can get a glimpse of you and reminisce on times when we shared laughs and smiles.
When we walked after class, letting everyone pass til we were the only ones left, and you held me close to your chest, whispering empty truths – telling me that I’m pretty and that you’ll always be here with me.
Everything felt perfect, so I should’ve known that it was ending, because something good never lasts. It rots until the smell is repelling, until you can’t stand it anymore.
Because spoiled goods aren’t good if they don’t taste as sweet as they used to be. I have to accept that there will be other fruit to pick from the tree, one that’s ripe and not bitter, one that has more flavor than you ever had.
I almost feel glad. Glad we met, and glad I let you know me. Glad we had a connection, and glad that it’s in the past. That we are now strangers, because our bond wasn’t strong enough to last.
And maybe it’s okay that we will never look at each other the same, because we’ll both meet new people. And maybe the girl you chose will satisfy you in ways I never could. She might repair your missing heart and change you for the greater good.
I won’t lie and say I’m not hurting, but I can say that I am slowly healing – from the wounds we both played a part in creating.
