The Problem Is That You’re My Problem


The problem is that you haunt me every night when I’m tired and I’m trying to sleep because I remember the times when coming home to you after a long day made it all better. When the worst days of my life were still good because you were in them. Now all my days look the same and all my nights are empty.

The problem is that I think about you at the most random times; during an important work meeting, during lunch, when I’m at the gym and when I’m out supposedly having a good time.

I think about you and I wonder if you will walk in and I wonder what I’ll say or how we will look at each other. I wonder if we’ll still be burning with desire or if we’ve grown cold.

The problem is that everyone doesn’t understand me, I have to explain and I have to lie. I have to pretend to be the person they think I am, the person I told them I was and the person I no longer recognize. I miss being myself and I miss doing so without having to apologize for it and I miss how you would just know what I’m thinking even when I wouldn’t say a word and sometimes you would tell me everything I wanted to hear even if I didn’t ask for it.

I miss how you used to understand me when I failed to understand myself.

The problem is that I still can’t hate you. I still can’t hear your name and cringe or hear that you’re hurting and not ask about you. I still care about your happiness, about your health, about your work and about your heart. I still hope you can find love, even if it’s with someone else. I still wish you well, even if you hurt me and I still feel bad for hurting you too. I can’t hate you and I never will. I loved you too much to hate you.

The problem is that I think I’m your problem too. I think you still can’t move on or be with anyone else. I think I cross your mind on random days when you’re running in the park and on stressful days when you’re stuck in traffic. I think it’s hard for you to find someone who can read your eyes and listen to your silence. I think your world is quiet now without me and I think you miss how my words filled your silence and how it protected you from all the voices in your head.

I think you miss me when it’s quiet and I miss you when it’s loud because you found solace in my noise and I found peace in your stillness.

The problem is that I’ll never know. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

Writing makes me feel alive. Words heal me.

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