i suppose it is my fault because i’m okay alone.
better, even.
i have always been better suited for my own company
than for the constant back-and-forth of ghosts
who only stay as long as the season is convenient.
i've always been better suited for my own company,
and after five years, i should have known
that the cost of saving you would be losing you.
i’ve been watching the door since i made the call,
knowing that for people like you,
the person who holds the mirror is the first one you break.
and then there’s the rest of them,
dropping "i care about you" into the silence
like a pity prize for the girl who lost her best friend.
it’s a hollow sound, a copper lie,
because i can see where your feet are pointed.
(you care about me, sure.
but you care about her more.
understandable.
she needs it.
but what about the one
who pulled her out of the dark.)
why should i feel anything at all?
why should i cry for a seat at a table?
why should i try to make her "forgive me"?
i don’t feel anything.
i don’t see the point in caring about people
who don’t care how i’m doing.
if everyone wants to make me public enemy #1,
then i won’t sit here and beg for a seat from someone
who cut me off for the crime of keeping her safe.
i am the villain because i refused to be a mourner.
i am the monster because i chose her pulse over her secret.
i spent five years building a bridge
just so you could use it to walk away.
and now the world is whispering,
"someone check on her,"
while i am standing here with the heavy, iron-rich
knowledge of what i’ve done,
covered in red,
wearing the bloom of the impact like a target.
let the curtain fall.
i’m not going to sit here and beg for "forgiveness"
for refusing to be a mourner.
i am okay alone.
better, even.
because at least in my own company,
the truth doesn't get you ghosted.
....
someone check on her.
please.
she needs it.
Apr 17
Apr 17, 2026 at 10:06 AM UTC
i suppose it is my fault because i’m okay alone.
better, even.
i have always been better suited for my own company
than for the constant back-and-forth of ghosts
who only stay as long as the season is convenient.
i've always been better suited for my own company,
and after five years, i should have known
that the cost of saving you would be losing you.
i’ve been watching the door since i made the call,
knowing that for people like you,
the person who holds the mirror is the first one you break.
and then there’s the rest of them,
dropping "i care about you" into the silence
like a pity prize for the girl who lost her best friend.
it’s a hollow sound, a copper lie,
because i can see where your feet are pointed.
(you care about me, sure.
but you care about her more.
understandable.
she needs it.
but what about the one
who pulled her out of the dark.)
why should i feel anything at all?
why should i cry for a seat at a table?
why should i try to make her "forgive me"?
i don’t feel anything.
i don’t see the point in caring about people
who don’t care how i’m doing.
if everyone wants to make me public enemy #1,
then i won’t sit here and beg for a seat from someone
who cut me off for the crime of keeping her safe.
i am the villain because i refused to be a mourner.
i am the monster because i chose her pulse over her secret.
i spent five years building a bridge
just so you could use it to walk away.
and now the world is whispering,
"someone check on her,"
while i am standing here with the heavy, iron-rich
knowledge of what i’ve done,
covered in red,
wearing the bloom of the impact like a target.
let the curtain fall.
i’m not going to sit here and beg for "forgiveness"
for refusing to be a mourner.
i am okay alone.
better, even.
because at least in my own company,
the truth doesn't get you ghosted.
....
someone check on her.
please.
she needs it.
