I know we’ve kissed many times and done this – said goodbye lip to lip. There was always a later, always a sometime, always a one day. You’ve asked me before if I believed in fate. I told you I did. But the truth is sometimes we have to chase it. And I’ve always been here, within your reach, and you’ve never taken a road that would lead you to me.
I’ve got to move. I’ve got to walk away from this place I always end up back in. I’ve got to tell you this is goodbye, but not the kind we’re used to. This isn’t one in which I know I’ll see you again, between romance, between lovers, between relationships. This isn’t a goodbye until it’s convenient for you. This isn’t a kiss goodbye until the next time. This is the goodbye I never thought I’d say – the goodbye I never have wanted to say, but always known I’ve had to say.
Because each time you tell me you love, I want to not say it back, I want to scream you don’t, but I don’t. And it kills me it’s been years of this – of this nameless thing, of whatever this is. And I always find myself back here – where I want to be, where I shouldn’t be. And we keep calling this love, but I’m burning away and you never stay, you have somewhere else to be. And you keep saying love, but it hurts. And somehow you still find a way to poke fire back in the ashes that I have become.
This is me telling you I don’t want to burn anymore. And I wish more than anything I could pretend this never happened, but every word I write tastes like your name, and there are scars on my flesh spawned by your hands. I wish I could hate you for always making me your second, for only being there when her lips weren’t enough; for making me your entertainment.
I’m tired of burning, of being the one who waits, who wishes you came around to stay. But the truth is that you never will come around to stay, no, you don’t love me – not enough. I did. Tried lying through gritted teeth, but my friends know it. Even my poetry knows it, even my ex-boyfriends knew it. They may not have known who you were, but even a fool could feel that there was a you.
I wrote about someone else the other day, without thinking about it, without meaning to and it made me realize that I don’t want to write about you anymore. Just like I don’t want to miss you anymore. I don’t want to be your security blanket, your fallback, warm skin when you need it, a game you play when you’re bored. I don’t even want to be your friend anymore – I can’t.
I’ve been choking on your name for too long. I’ve said goodbye to my fair share of undeserving men, and I never realized that just because you’ve always been there, always been my friend and something more without a label, doesn’t mean that there isn’t anything to end – to walk away from.
This is me writing your name on paper and tossing it into the flames. You can’t be here, you have somewhere else to be. You’ve always had somewhere else to be. You can keep lighting matches and starting all the fires that keep you entertained, I just don’t want to be around to burn.
This is me telling you it hurts. This is me telling you we’ve got to let this go. This is me telling you I don’t want you to come around knocking anymore.