I want to believe it’s not because we are hard to love. Those times of laughter and exchange of secrets all thrown out the window had to have a reason. The times we put our faith in one another to watch it unravel right before our eyes.
I want to know you’re with me because you choose to stay, not because you’re afraid of seeing me with someone else. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Disagreements that took detours and railways without a will to remain straight. Spite covering pain. Control covering a bruised ego. Words that convey a deeper meaning we refuse to say gracefully and your trust in me shattering only to leave the small pieces of glass I find pinching me when least expected.
All those amazing moments. They were real. I remember how everything felt so safe as I lay my head on your chest. You provided a sense of security I never received with anyone else and that was my problem.
I tried to make up for a feeling I lacked before, failing to consider all the other parts that were going terribly wrong. You were my support system, but when it came to my writing. When it came to the things I felt mattered most to my heart…you neglected that. You ignored it and left me on read, with a vibe of condescension.
I went out one night after another one of our petty arguments trying to find the life in me again. I stood there in a crowd full of people attempting to be seen but felt invisible. Nothing, no eyes because I had lost myself. I lost myself in the things I stood for, the things that separated me all because I was afraid of how they would appeal to you.
In the battle of finding the “us” again, I couldn’t even find me. Things were once so great. They lasted long enough before the storm peaked in again…and we all know, you only get a certain amount of coverage before the damage starts to visibly highlight everything you can no longer hide.