At Least You’re Something To Write About

I can’t take you with me.

You came when I needed you the most and now I need you to go.

Please remove yourself.

If I could forget you I would leave.

One day you made me feel like the most important girl in the world and the next I ceased to exist.

I’m baffled. I don’t get it.

I don’t believe in you anymore.

You rarely show up and that feeling in my throat when I know you won’t is making me bitter.

And that’s just not me.

Last week up Immigration I could feel your stare as I gazed out the window, looking up, trying not to cry.

I don’t know what you were looking for.

I know you can detect it in my green eyes that your excuses have grown old.

I think you want to care but I don’t think you know how.

I don’t know if you are capable of seeing anything outside of yourself.

Your tunnel vision owns you.

It’s been a month and I am burnt out.

I don’t want to be your friend anymore.

I think it’s time to disappear.

I have all this stupid love for you even when you are doubting me.

I wish it would stop.

It feels like staring down a barrel of a gun waiting for the bullets to stop.

And it’s bullshit.

You are sorry. Always sorry.

You say you are just trying to figure life out.

Aren’t we all?

For once I will call it like I see it.

You just don’t care about me at all.

I feel foolish.

I hope you find everything you think that you want.

And the worst thing about all of this is that I am bleeding my heart out on this keyboard knowing you may read my heartache and you will still refuse to find your way back.

And even though you will refuse to acknowledge my heart, I can’t ever deny that you’ve mattered to me the most.

I am not scared of love or of you. I am afraid of running out of words.

And at least you have given me enough to write about.