If I rewrite the narrative,
make you say things you’d never-
it hurts a little bit less.

If I picture you sending my screenshots,
laughing with your friends
about how I’m pathetic,
it hurts a little bit less.

If I melt the candy coating off your words
and read them as they are,
my chest doesn’t feel as hollow.
The pages rinse free of hope,
replaced with finality.

If I say it was just a game,
and now I have to log out-
close the window, shut it down,
you’ll never log back in.

My lungs can fill with air again,
My eyes remain dry.
This grief stops sitting on me,
I can stop wondering why.

You’ll always be
my favorite book I picked up-
but maybe you were one
I was never meant to read.