I've come to the conclusion that it's possible to stare at the ceiling for so long you can feel it staring right back. There are some spaces on the walls that my eyes gaze onto for longer and there's some parts of my bed in which i'd rather lay. There was something about the way the sheets felt against my skin this morning that seemed as though they were trying to protect me from the truth this day would hold. There's something about the way the birds sang louder as if they were trying to overlap the sound of you leaving. There's something about the way I could feel a breeze from the door downstairs, as though you we're so rushed to get out that you couldn't take an extra moment to shut it properly. I should have seen it coming, I should have told you that you've mistaken. I should of told you that I never needed you but I never enjoyed the thought of waking up alone. There's something about the way you told me you'd never leave that sounded a lot like the way my father told my mother he loved her, I should of been quicker to point out the lie. But how do you tell someone to stay while dreaming of inviting someone else in? It was never you. It was me. Lately I've been feeling like maybe its less about the way 'i love you' sounded when i was saying it, and more about who was in mind; it was never you. I'm sorry that I'd only stay in bed with you till you fell asleep, you were simply a rain drop in the ocean. I fall in love with downpours. I love closed doors and black walls.
We're different. You're gone, I'm okay.