Hello.
Don't
Be
Afraid.
It
Will
Be
okay.
I know this for a fact.
My
logic
is
a
little
bit
cracked.
I
Promise.
I won't leave you.
No side of you could push me away.
No truth.
No fact.
You
Are
Stuck
With
Me.
unless you push me away

6 months is a long time.
A long time to be "just friends" with a hint of something else.
Talking to you makes the overthinking quiet
My usually constantly moving brain stills
And for once I can’t think of what to say
But when you're gone i go back
Pick apart every word and phrase
Trying to figure out what I could say to make you stay
try to tell if you meant those sweet little nothings.
Prove to me that you did.
Prove you didn't lie.
Please.
Please
please-
pleas-
I plead.
I plead with you to end this wretched game.
I plead with you to tell me.
Tell me if all of these months have been for nothing
I am begging.
But then my knees start to bleed.
I don’t know how much longer I can kneel
waiting
Bruised with my perilous plead,
I am sick. I am sick of playing pretend.
I am sick of saying that "everything is fine"
I jump rope in between the lines.
The line between fine and lie.
Your feelings are what you call undefined
every changing. forever unrefined.
please.
6 months is a long time to lie.
a long time to repeat the same measly words
Those phrases that everyone in our generation says to avoid saying what we really mean
“What are you doing?” really means “I miss you”
“How are you?” really means that I don’t know who I am without you
over and over.
I need the truth.
actual answers.
Not the avoidant ominous lines that you have probably told 30 other people looking for something more that just friends with a little hint of something else.
I am begging.
The harsh ground digs into my palms as I lean over my thighs.
head to the floor as my tears soak the space underneath them.

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.