we paint a pretty picture out of holding on
out of never giving up hope
but sometimes it’s knowing when to call it quits
it’s letting go when you don’t feel ready, because you realize you’re waiting for someone who’s already gone
he took the last train out of this dried up town and left you here to wilt away with it
understand that what you miss is only the embellished memories of someone you used to know
but he has changed since then- and you can grow without his nourishment

people see what they want to see
and maybe it’s a weakness you’ve grown out of
maybe it’s a past you’ve shed like second skin
people will hold on to things you’ve let go of
so you’ve got to love yourself
enough to make up for the ones who spite you
enough to tell yourself you’ve done a good job
when your head hits the pillow at night
people will say things intended to cut you and leave you with open wounds
you are not the mistakes you’ve made-
do not let them convince you otherwise

It's a cliche, the way past lovers always come back around
as if it's written on my skin that I tend to forgive more freely than I should
as though they are checking in just to see if I'm still waiting
hours, days, months spent shoving their name down my throat
to convince myself the ending was mutual
and then one day, long after the waiting turned into progressing
they have the audacity
to ask if I'm still anticipating their realization that they 'loved me all along'
to ask if I still want them, because suddenly they feel alone
suddenly they need me
but I am taking every step in the opposite direction of you
I am worth more than a second-thought, than the regret you feel from walking away

I would've given anything to watch every sunset with you
and I don't know why two people in love can't do anything but destroy each other
I don't know why every time you're around poison seeps into my bloodstream
just know that in another universe, I am laying next to you
I know what it's like to adore what breaks you
I've always confused my destruction with divine intervention

and I’ve come to realize that if affection isn’t given freely, it’s not worth having
i’ve grown tired of driving down dead-end roads as if I could pave my own way out
and i’ve learned to know that it may look like love, but it feels a lot more like pain
and loving someone who doesn’t feel the same isn’t really love at all
and you could spend the rest of your life waiting for someone to realize they want you in theirs
and I knew, no matter what you said you were never going to be sure of me
so I’ll move move on with the realization that there are better things to come than what I’ve left behind
embracing the endings in what is not meant to be

I've been scolded for using the word 'love' too often
throwing it away, as if it had to be secured for romantic encounters or within a length of time
like it might become tired or meaningless
but what if I am so full of love I can't help but overflow with it?
what if I've known platonic love, tender love, fervent love?

so I'll say 'I love you', only when I mean it
and I hope my abundance of it never runs dry
I hope it flows out of me effortlessly, because there will never be such thing as loving too much

I have never known how to be enough
always either exceedingly too much or not quite there at all
I wonder, did you feel like I was suffocating you?
or did you feel like you had to coerce words out of my mouth for me to admit I felt anything at all?
I am reckless in my emotions, impulsive in my words
I spent months learning to pretend I'm not plagued by your memory
I wonder if you spend time mourning what we lost
I wonder if you get a stomach ache when you think about the ending
or if it's a heavy sigh of relief, a warmth against your skin
I wonder if I'm best kept as a memory
tell me, what makes you think of me?
the frizz in your hair, or the bad taste in your mouth?
your worst day or your best- It'd be a pleasure to be any of your days at all