I am writing this, in hopes that you wont
get to read it. Because I dont want you
to know that I’m still stuck in the place
where you left me. That I spend my time
replaying and re-reading our conversations,
trying to find out what went wrong. That
I stopped writing on my planner after the day
I last saw you. That I’m still waiting for
a proper goodbye.
You sucked loneliness out of my bones,
as if you were made for it, only to return
it ten-folds and turn it into misery.
Into something that would take
half a lifetime to get over.
And here I am,
still unable to think of a way to say
goodbye to you. To us. To what we
could have been. To the future
that was denied from us.
I don’t want you to read this.
I don’t want you to know.
But somewhere, in the
softest part of myself,
I hope you do.