The day I started letting go of you was when the idea of us was sure to exist,
in my mind, in every way.
 the sweet reality of us and the bitter reality of me never held hands.
 Funny enough, I started making the surety of us into the wounded child.
She giggled, for she was down for every possibility of us.
Wounded children never dream, for the hope of dreaming caused them a lifetime of not achieving it.
They yearn, they beg, they never let go, they never move on.
When we both nodded, you were nowhere to be seen.
That's when you let go of us.
When reality of us not existing surfaced, the wounded child yearned and begged for you.
But this time, I didn't give her what she wanted, for I have loved you enough to let you go.
Her tantrums grew; in your absence, the need for you grew.
That's how she was conditioned.
She can't see what's right in front of her, but something light years away. That explains why she loved the sky so dearly.
She ran, ran to the arms of people who wounded her.
But this time, I took her pinky and asked, “what if I stayed this time?”
The bewilderment sprung on her face.
 She looked at me as if I am a clown who jumped out of the box, shocked by my words and my clowness.
She still needed ears for her cries, so I gave her mine and the people of whom I care.
Her cries were haunting. Her wails echoed through my mind, leaving me unable to function.
She demanded to know the reason for your leaving.
You never gave any, so I had to make her many.
 Out of which bloomed anger and hatred for you.
Why did you choose to love me? Or did you ever love me?
Your fast assurance of your love for me was just your way of deluding yourself of your capability of loving another, only to realize you can't.
……And many more conclusions I made of you.
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titsay
areudirty
stormborns