On feeling forgotten

 

It tastes like a staleness in once-electrified space, and reminds me of the night I wasn’t able to kiss you goodbye.  I sit around in this room and see all of these pieces – proof that you were here, that you made an impact, that people loved you. I sit here and I wonder if you miss this, if you miss us.

Usually, I decide the answer is no. You’re probably too busy to wonder about me; you likely are still adjusting to being so happy and carefree with your new situation. I wonder if I cross your mind, but I’m afraid to wonder in what capacity. Maybe deep down you were relieved to have a reason to get away. Or maybe, just maybe, you were relieved to find an out and save your heart before things between us got to be too much. I know it’s not likely.

Still, I catch myself smiling, pretending you miss it all as much as do. Hoping that you’ll make your way back to me so we can remember it all together. It hurts to swing from these could-have-been highs to wasted time lows, but hey…. it hurts to only know the lows, too.

I wish you would come see me or give me a call or just answer a text. You promised you would, you know. Make good on that, prove to me that you’re as wonderful as I’ve painted you to be in my memory. Do you remember when you offered me your support and swore you’d be there for me no matter what? Because I’ve been needing you, and it feels like you forgot to be there. So as often as I yearn for your companionship, I keep to myself because I hate it when you answer me with unscathed silence. What could I have done to deserve that?

I guess the staleness is just a part of feeling forgotten, of loving a time or a person that’s gone its own way. It leaves a terrible taste in my mouth, and while I know you’ll never come to kiss it away, maybe you could still swing by and work your magic. You always did know just what to say.

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