You’ll leave me because that’s what all the other boys did. You’ll leave me for a girl who doesn’t make you doubt yourself. Someone who will tell you what you want to hear; rather than someone who will tell you what she thinks you need to hear. You’ll leave me because you’ll grow to hate me.
You’ll hate the way I pick my split ends. The way I pout and sigh. You’ll find the way I coddle you annoying. You’ll grow used to me. The sex gets stale. You’ll leave because you’re bored. You’ll leave because that’s how it’s done.
You’ll find my ideals too cynical, yet not enough. I don’t agree with all your opinions. I’m stubborn. I can’t communicate well enough. You’ll find me strange: me and my fairy tales. Me and my hell.
You’ll leave because you thought I was different.
That maybe I was someone worthwhile. Full of interesting thoughts, ideas, and jokes. But, you’ll soon come to realize, that I’m just like everyone else. I’m full of mistakes. I’m weak, but I’m a good person. And you’ll hate it.
You’ll leave because I’ve never been fully honest with you. My indecisiveness will bother you because you think it’s because I can’t make up my mind. But, the truth is, my mind was made up the moment our lips touched and your eyelashes brushed against mine. If I were honest, all those times you asked for me to decide the when and the where, my answer would have been the same: now, here.
And when you’re leaving, slowly pulling yourself out of my arms, I’ll know it’s goodbye. I’ll keep my eyes closed, breathing uneven. You’ll pretend not to notice. Noticing would mean you would care enough to ask, and you might stay. But we both know that I’m not good at talking when it comes to the important things. So we’ll keep quiet as you throw on your clothes. My mouth will open, eyes still closed. I should say something, but I don’t know where I can start.
Once you leave, I’ll be the one who has to look at the closed door. Stuck in the bedroom of my apartment, not wanting to let go, but not wanting to hurt. I can tell you now, it’s a place I’ve traveled to. And it’s not a great place to be. I’ll fall back into bed, never having uttered a word, listening to the pounding in my ears.
My heart will beat like it’s missing something. Like there’s nothing else inside of me.
You’ll leave because I’ll never try to make you stay.