I would have wished you happy birthday.
I would have been a friend like you wanted me to be and wished me happy birthday.
I would have shown you that I cared and wished you happy birthday.
I would pretend you didn’t broke my heart a week before my birthday and the least you could have done was messaged me wishing me a happy birthday.

I would done that for you.
I would have stayed for you.
I would still let my heart fight my head everyday for you.

I still tell myself you letting me go was a curtsey when it felt like a betrayal.
I still tell myself I’m better on my own when I didn’t feel this bad holding onto the littlest part of you.
I still hold on hope that I could change your mind to miss me when you clearly don’t.
I would have wished you happy birthday.

I cried again today and I hated myself for it. Every tear feels like your winning a battle you don’t even know your apart of.

I’m cursed to over feel, overthink, over believe. Hope is the cruelest of emotions as hope hardly ever does prevail. Maybe when hope is a big picture - being alive, countries winning wars- it’s really something. But on the smaller side if hope -heartbreaks, job promotions, not crying ever time I listen to that song- it possibly the worst thing a person could possible feel.

But here I am hoping. I hope you miss me, I hope you’ll want me back, I hope you’ll love me, I hope this will stop hurting, I hope I’ll make through the first 5 seconds of the morning without thinking about you. I hope one day I’ll be good enough, I hope I’ll be worth staying for, I hope someone is devastated at the very thought of me not being around.

The alarm goes at 5:30am,
I get up and do my make up,
I smoke on my walk to work so I can’t taste how fresh the early morning air is.

I say hello to 50 different people,
Drink coffee and smoke more,
I convince myself I really do love my job and I real mean it.

I really mean I’m doing a good job being a functioning adult,
I’m really making a difference,
All I really need is myself while I do this job that I love.

Another day done,
Another cigarette filled walked home,
Another night spent waiting till I can drug myself to sleep.

The day is finally done,
I can finally just go to sleep,
I finally I’m out of distraction so I’m left pleading to whatever is out there… why wasn’t I enough this time?