I tell you that I am falling for you, I know you don't feel the same.
I tell you that it is okay.
You say that I am jumping to false assumptions,
I explain you never told me otherwise.
You say that you cannot

I fell for it.
I fell for the pretty words
I fell for the pretend interest and the untrue wishes
But mixed signals is a system of control and commitment is your fear.
You put on a disguise to hide the part of you that you don't like.
You think that I want to fix you but there isn't anything to fix.
You aren't "broken" or "messed up".
You just didn't like me that much

5 minutes. I see you and after only 5 minutes, I think that I am in love. I watch you from across the room and well- you might be my doom.
10 minutes. I sit here watching you talk. Your laugh is like music to my sore years and your eyes are like the contacts to my blind eyes.
20 minutes. Okay I think I might be crazy. I have been sitting here for 20 minutes just watching. I watch your hands, I watch your mouth, and honestly I have absolutely nothing to complain about.
45 minutes. I could sit here for hours, just watching you read. You ordered your coffee and I am afraid you will leave. Next thing I know, you are walking over to me. “Hello Stranger”.
80 minutes. We have been talking for a while. My stalking caught you off guard. Now you see- I am not a creep. Just a guy, afraid to say hello. I know your favorite band, and the ice cream that you eat when you are sad. It is not your favorite. It is just there.
120 minutes. I can't help but stare. You say that you don't mind. There is this fire in your eyes that I cannot explain. You have been talking about a theory for 30 minutes now. The topic doesn’t interest me that much but your passion is enough to keep me invested.
180 minutes. And then you were gone. One moment you were there, the next you were gone. It stung. I thought I could stare forever. I thought we had forever.

You may think that your scars are healed, dormit. Well contrary to popular belief they aren't. Scars need constant rejuvenation to stay sealed and keep you from bleeding out. I know this because today my scars opened. The scar you left without another word or another look in my direction. I thought it healed. I heard your ****** name and the stitches I made unfurled. I take out my needle and my thread, and is it pierces my moisturized skin I curse myself for allowing this to happen. I curse your name for breaching my secured mind. The sanity I glued back together shatters at the very sound of your
voice. I thought that I was okay but after all that effort to forget and the red door that holds my memories of you away, away from my consciousness and away from the world, breaks. Like a dam too full or a kidney working to exhaustion. The cut that always bleeds. So ******* and your perfect face. ******* and your soothing voice. ******* and the memories we have. Do I miss you? Would you care? I hate you for what you did and I love you for what you didn't.

Blue, the color of the ocean, mirrors the tears that streamed down my face when you said goodbye. It's the hue of the lies I told, the hidden pain that the world never saw, the ache in my heart when you expressed hatred—a sentiment I feared was true. Two years have passed, yet I'm trapped in a cycle of remembrance and regret, unable to escape the shadow of our past.

The details of our shared life—your number, your address, the places we cried—are etched in my memory. We could have avoided this heartache with the truth, but I was too immature to realize what we could have been. Your face haunts my dreams, your voice still echoes, and I'm left questioning why we lied, why I claimed to hate you. I gave you love, but it wasn't reciprocated, and that's fine. Yet, I'm burdened with the question: why didn't I just tell the truth?

I penned a final letter, a farewell, believing it would be the end. But I can't call you, even though I remember your number, because you've moved on. It seems I'm alone in this lingering pain, seeking closure I'll never find. So, I'll try to move on, to pretend, to forget this poem I never wrote. People may think me mad for clinging to this juvenile love, but despite the hatred that now mingles with my affection, I can't help it—I still love you.

My skin, It doesn’t fit right over my bones
Why, why do I always feel alone?
Even in a crowded room
Or with my friends, they assume I am just quiet.
I used to be loud, now I just hide
I used to look up at the sky in amazement
Now I look up and wonder when the innocence ended.
I thought that when I was older I would be mended
I guess not. Cause here I am today, and nothing at all has changed.
What happened to the pretty flowers and the bright blue skies?
A house cannot be built on sand and a family can't stand on lies.
I guess I was too young but now I know.
The people i thought to be so close
They hold nothing but disdain.
I think i'm starting to feel faint.
I know that i am no saint but growing up well growing up is nothing but pain
It is like a giant stain on my back but the stain is my own blood that soaks the knife that you hold.
It is a story that has yet to be told.
The way you sold my love like an old rusting truck.
God you ****.
Why am I like this? Why was I so trusting?
I let you in, I let you in my home and now you have left me in this house all alone.
I can't make my skin fit over my bones but what i can do is i can throw the stones.
I learned from the best.
Change is the best revenge.