If you ask my about my feelings for him,
I'd reply, "non-existent."
If he ever even asked for me back,
I'd reply, "keep wishing."

But if you asked me where we met,
I'd reply "in Washington D.C."
If you wondered where he asked me out,
I'd describe it to a T.
If you inquired what he got me for Christmas,
I'd recite each and every detail.
And if you questioned where we first kissed,
I'd explain the bench and the park all to scale.

And even though I know it's all over, and all for the best,
It's difficult to let go of what we had, and to put it all to rest.

If time and distance tear us apart,
I have to know if it was me or your heart.
If the sand in your toes filled you with some kind of satisfaction I can't match,
If the salty sea left you with an itch I can't scratch,
If the California girls prove me completely unworthy,
If I'm not enough adventure for you; if it's not enough to just hold me
Maybe Cali changed you.
...then I don't know what to do.
   And maybe you're not new.
   Maybe you needed some kind
   of wake up call,
   something that had it all,
   to validate that I am nothing.

Please come back.

Guilt:
The powerful emotion that encourages us to rethink everything. We’re never sure who it belongs to, because sometimes everyone harbors it inside, and other times, no one does.
Acceptance:
Ambiguous, in the aspect that sometimes we convince ourselves we’re accepted something when we really haven’t— and that instance actually aids the acceptance process.
Love:
Melds our hearts together, melts them, and crushes them in the end, in a cruel twist.
Crush:
Someone we almost/maybe love, that has the potential of breaking you, fixing you, or straight up crushing you.

You put words in my mouth through thoughts in your head—
Thoughts that deserve to be head.
Why, just why the hell would you believe your mind rather than mine?
I did everything for you.
Rearranged my priorities,
Took control of some of these
wild thoughts in my brain.
Make time for you.
Kinda upset that time is wasted now
But you wasted your time too,
Arranging a script for me out of your distortions. Go on, take a bow!
You did such a great job at flipping and folding and molding my words into something new.
Anyway,
It’ll be fun to see what I can do
now that I know I don’t need you.

When I was 15, I learned promises can be empty.
They’ll open the door,
Lead you inside.
Look you right in the eyes and lie.
They’ll promise you, “I’ll be back.”
Then they slam the door and all will go black,
Leaving you waiting, yearning for their light.
After a while you’ll learn that they’ve left you for good, and wonder:
“who gave you the right?”
Then whisper:
“who gave you the right?”
Then cry:
“Who gave you the right?”
Then scream:
“WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT?”
While your voice and heart crack,
But the simple fact is,
It doesn’t matter now.
Now, it’s not about them. It’s about you.
They left. They’re through.
Pick yourself up, put yourself back together.
Forget about them, throw away the control they had over you before, find the key, twist off the padlock and step through that **** door,
And promise yourself not to go back there anymore.

Your yellow post-its used to sprinkle my possessions with good messages,
assurances,
support.
They brought a smile to my face and a skip to my heartbeat.
But now,
Your handwriting haunts my head and I can’t escape.
Everywhere I look, all I see is your cursive letters and your initial at the bottom of the message.
I crumpled them up after I’ve ripped them off of their page,
I burn them,
I tear them,
I try to forget them.
And the more I try to forget them the more I remember how much it hurt when I destroyed them in the first place.

It comes in waves, but waves no one else feels; not water waves.
I am hearing frequencies no one else can hear, and they are so powerful that they knock me down, face flat on the ground.
When I try to explain,
They all claim they understand but then how are they still standing?
The particles compressing and stretching are stressing my mind, yet my body cannot muster to fight.
I have almost given up flight.
The air isn’t clear enough,
not quiet enough,
I lost hope and I can find it
It’s been rough but no ones buying it
And that’s when I find myself drowning in the sound no one else can hear.