Everyone tells me "forgive and forget" as if it's easy.
If you came knocking on my door at three thirty in the morning two years from now, I'd look into your crystal blue eyes and tell you how much I've missed them, as if you never hurt me. I'd let you in and give you everything you'd ask for. I'd treat you like you're a king, although I'm a peasant; a grimy peasant that forgives for forgiveness.
I would tell you I'm sorry for making you leave, and that I'm sorry for not being good enough. I'd tell you all the things I could've done to be better and deserve you. I would tell you it can be better now. We've grown up, and I still love you. I would tell you what I've been up to in the past two years and how all the other guys didn't even compare to my love for you.
Eventually you would have to go. You would tell me you just broke up with your girlfriend and just came to visit and old "friend." The word "friend" pierced my heart like a needle to a balloon. Like there was never a different word for what we used to be. You would tell me you don't return my feelings anymore. You would tell me the real reason we broke up was because you just didn't have feelings for me anymore. You didn't love me. You didn't want to string me along.
You would tell me all of these thing and you wouldn't realize that every word you say is another needle added to my heart that is being use as a pin cushion.
My love for you will be the death of me, I swear.
But I'll never forget what you put me through.
(I might write another book full of little things like this.)
