You broke my heart a million and one times and left me here alone to collapse between these crumbling walls. Picking up the pieces that were better off to be left scattered amongst the remains from which you left them. Lord knows I just wish for a safe space away from it all while I’m left wondering what the hell was it all for. This counterfeit love consuming my own rewritten world. All to chase disillusioned dreams of a truer way and deeper love than mine has ever seemed. So what in the fuck was the whole reason you came and brought your baggage now strewn and strung out across these trampled floorboards? With no expectations and very little reward. While no doubt further exists that you’ll be soon face first into his headboard.
However it plays out, it all remains so demeaning to have run so far off course. From time to time, of course, I’m losing reasons to use my voice. From the E.R’s bedside to the middle of downtown at the nearest curb, curled up in my arms and laughing carelessly at the whole thing. How absurd; the joy a broken heart must meandor through in the epitome of it’s misery and still finding my way back home to you. 12:14AM and there’s no sign sound enough to confirm that I’m not truly losing you. A fairness in totality when such eager planning takes two failed hearts full of forgiveness in order to resume.
Now I’m starting to remember all of our eyelash and dandelion wishes. Your best kept secrets and even better kisses.
All of which began with you and I, now what sense did it make to lose it all for a fucking guy? All I can think to do is cry and let the void settle solemnly in the darkness of tired eyes. Truly tried and tested, thinking of all my heart has since fully invested. From April 2015 to the beginning of another lonely fall, growing ever closer and now you can’t even answer my calls. A heaviness consuming my world that I can no longer depict, and let’s face it now, he was in it for lust and you were in it for dick. Something another long walk won’t fail to subject my fleeting sanity to. Goddamnit, girl I hate loving you. And I can’t pretend to not give a shit when I do. Nor can I chase you when I’m the reason you stay on the run. It’s always, somehow, still, my fault. Locked within former messages retrieved and bottomed out to wholeheartedly receive another careless rendition of primitive motives to gain peace. Though I hope you’ve had your fill and your fun.