Look at me, and tell me you felt nothing.
Riding in that car at odd hours of the night, headlights popped up to greet the open road.
The sky was limitless, laid out in a grand display, just for us. I felt infinite.
Cool night breeze whipping through our hair, refreshing after a day of adventure. That song we love would play, and I’d be in the back, neck craned to stare at the stars.
I’d get lost in the wind and the music and the feeling of being with the two of you. It felt right.
Maybe I just projected that onto you. I thought you felt the same. I thought we all felt the same. I thought at least for a few fleeting moments, we all felt whole.
Those nights are dead and gone now. You took all those stars from my eyes, and snuffed them out, one by one. We’ve lost those moments, but I never lost that stupid, selfish feeling of wanting to be loved.
There were so many things we could have done; memories to be made, nights to be spent adventuring. Leaving that italian restaurant and finally being alone again, all holding hands in the car.
I loved it. I love you. I loved being with both of you. Nothing taken away, everything to gain.
It all started in the car, on the way to the cape that night. You both fell asleep on my shoulders and I got that first feeling of being whole. I fell in love with the idea of oneness- through the three of us.
I tried to kill this part of me for you, I really did. But you teased it, poked, prodded, until I fell victim to it, too big to contain.
Now I’m all broken up, and your comfort is a luxury I only get when you’re in a good mood.
Parts of me belong to each of you. Parts of me crave to see you together, happy. How could a look of true happiness be such a lie?
So before I fall apart again, I’ll ask you for the truth.
Look at me, and tell me you felt nothing.