I get the feeling that I seldom cross your mind these days. You’ve shed the guilt that used to poke at you, conquered the worry of whether or not I could forgive you. Just because you’ve convinced yourself that breaking my heart was for my own good, you want to believe there are no hard feelings.
Well fuck you. Because I’m made up of hard feelings.
I’m smoldering, smoking coals and I’m reaching, yearning flames. I’m the grade of loyalty that you could never pick up off the rack. I’m continuous devotion and consuming passion, and I’ve never strayed from anyone or anything who was proud to have me.
When it came to honesty, I was whiskey-drunk transparent in the sober light of day. Not even a ghost of a lie could have passed my lips because the thought of tainting yours was enough to kill me. I was eager rather than anxious and felt beautiful for the first time I could remember. I was lovesick confident and the walls crumbled for a single smile from you. I was rebuilt that summer with starry nights of certainty.
Things changed. Life got in the way. It just didn’t work out like it was supposed to.
I became crumbled mountains of love letters never sent. My ambition fled the scene, my priorities melted in the fury of the heartache, and any ounce of self-worth you ever gave to me ripped itself from my reach. Tattered, tearstained everything. Broken, untrusting skeleton of a girl. All at once you rubbed me the wrong way until I was raw. And now…now you can’t think of me for fear of noticing the scars, of having to see your damage done.
I get the feeling I seldom cross your mind these days. There’s a new girl, one who’s happy and whole and who doesn’t look a thing like home. I get it. You had to run and taking me with you was too much of a burden to carry. Only so much familiarity can come to face the uncertainty. Enjoy your fresh start. But let’s not pretend that it’s all okay.