You know me. You ran your hands through the edges of my broken pieces yesterday. We hugged last month and you told me you loved me. You held my hand three weeks ago. You pushed my hair back from my face four weeks ago. You walked over and talked to me six weeks ago and we talked for three hours about zebras and booze and smoke. You came into my life seven weeks ago. You saw me walk past you seven weeks ago. You brushed past me with your friends.
You are the reason I didn’t. You are the reason I didn’t cry. You are the reason I wrote. To impress. To establish.
Let’s start again. I’m hurt. I am always hurt. And the reason is you. You left me. I know I’m not supposed to feel this way. Sometimes, my primordial complexes kick in. I’m sorry. I’m not hurt, per say. I’m not happy. Yes, that defines it better.
You are this friend, I turned to for everything. What I failed to recognize was that people are ever changing and inconstant and that sucks. I believed you would break that barrier for me. You didn’t. You left after 7 weeks. Leaving me in gut-wrenching pain of knowing that you weren’t mine anymore. To claim. To own.
You had promised me in the midst of the summer dreams that you would never impose on me. You did. You influenced the way I drew my eyes to the doodles I crafted on the wooden doors of my imagination. You crawled into the edges of my mutations, slowly clawing in for more. You ruptured the fabricated lies I hid inside. You explored the way into my broken withins.
And then, you left me. I’m trying to change myself. Soon, I will be ready to be used, loved and thrown again. I will trust you again. I won’t mind letting another person into the insanity of the wrecked heart. I know you too will leave. One day. But today, I get to wear my heart on my sleeve, smother my tired lips with red, and dab the remaining mascara.