Even when you’re not doing anything wrong, they still find fault in you.

I sat down today, the music blasting in my ears drowning out all the outside noise, I sat down to write out a paragraph that I’ve been meaning to send to you, for you, about you.
I wanted to ask why I was so easy to throw away as if the last two months had meant nothing.
I wanted to ask bravely if you still had some love for me.
I wanted to ask if you woke up today hardly being able to breathe, reaching out to touch me in your half asleep state.
I wanted to know if you had missed me at all today while I’ve been missing you since the moment you walked away from me in the parking lot of your apartment building.
I wanted to know if you find yourself spaced out between this morning and right now, wondering how the hell you got to eight in the evening.
I needed to know if you still think there’s a slim chance that we will meet again one day, when you’re better and I’m happier.
I sat down today, my fingers floating over the keyboard but I couldn’t find it in myself to ask those things.
Truth is, you’re back to being the stranger, but all of the hurt you gave me stayed. You’re just a stranger with all these memories.
I miss who you were.

It hurts more when you know you didn’t do anything wrong.

You don’t know how to make it okay because you did nothing wrong,

The loneliness I feel when I drop you off at home is pathetic, the silence swirls around me in my dark room, the music from Spotify is playing on low volume.

It would be a short drive over to your place but I need not be too attached to you, how else am I going to survive if you end up leaving me for someone better.

I wanted to tell you that I found someone for me, someone who listens and someone who’ll love me for me, I found someone where I didn’t search for you in their faces,
I opened up our message box to write to you, to show you how extremely happy I am but I stop.
I don’t want to tell you and make it seem like I’m rubbing it in your face, showing you that someone can love me more than you, no, that’s not my intention.
You were my best friend, who was there at my highs but also shot me to my lows.
I miss our friendship but not in the way you think, I miss who I once respected.

Who is he?

He’s the type of guy who would make me walk on the inside of the sidewalk, step a little bit closer to me as some drunk guy starts shouting at no one.

He’s the type of soul who lays in bed with me, and could talk about anything and everything. He runs his hand up and down my arm, and wants me to rest my head on his shoulder.

He’s the type of guy who kisses me softly and slowly and surely. He pulls me to his chest.

He’s the type of guy who worries when I’m sad and wants me to find comfort within him.

He’s my guy and I don’t want to share him with nobody. Not yet.

I feel like I’m walking in slow motion, while the rest of the world is up to speed, the faceless faces pass me, their voices moulded together, my head is dizzy and I feel like I’m going to faint amongst the busy crowd