I want to cry on you. I want to beat your chest in and say, "You can't keep having me!" You can't keep on having me.
This is plenty already, this is enough. Feel free to interact with the verges of my existence, but don't ask for an inch and expect a mile. You can't pretend my sent, unread, messages wouldn't be enough to connect us even now-as far as we are. Don't act like my thoughts aren't enough to fill a Bible. I'm angry at my interest, and so sad I keep wanting more. You don't want me, so why do I consider you? You don't live up to your promises, even the ones I make for you.
I just want that call back, where I make you laugh enough that I consider the issue dead, instead of our relationship. Is it bad that I told you I still know how to make you laugh? Is it bad that I was right? I just thought that, maybe, you decided, "He isn't for me anymore," after a couple of weeks. (Maybe you decided I wasn't the right fit, that it wasn't enough.) Hard to know when you wouldn't message me "Hello" to save your life, to save our friendship.
I know it's for the best though. I'd never have gotten over you if you hadn't pushed me into it. A year is long, and it took me every season to work my way through it. You ruined fall for me, the first day of winter too. No one will ever know you the way I do, but one person comes close. She pushed past the limits; she was given permission.
. . . . . . . . .
Pulling my mask down for a second, to make a face. He freezes, then rushes away, walking. I head his way, he manages to escape me.
YOU ARE READING
Reader's Notes
PoetryA growing collection of prose, old and new, from the teenage years: stories, passing thoughts, poetry. Mental imagery and dialogues straight from thoughts to text. Feel free to leave a comment with feedback or pointing out a small mistake somewhere...
