I think I loved you. But in that moment where I told you that I did - you just froze up - it made me not like you. Because you knew me better than anyone else and you couldn’t even give me the slightest bit back. It wasn’t even a matter of love - you were unkind.
I’d spend my days pouring my soul out to you, in constant hopes of receiving something back. I’d watch you unravel and I never wavered. I put patches over the holes in our relationship and painted them over to make them look pretty.
Then, when you decided you’d had enough. You didn’t even have the kindness to let me go. You held me on your fingertips - knowing that I loved you - and knowing you wouldn’t love me, because you were too scared to be alone. And I wouldn’t dare leave you.
Then you filled our days with silence until you decided you wanted to see me. Always at your will. I’d justify it all because on good days, it felt like it did at the beginning.
And then I met him. And I learned how to let you go. How to accept love that was kind. That wanted me as much as I wanted it. Finally, you call me. You want to talk about us.
I tell you there’s nothing left to discuss.
