if I could sever the bridge that connects
these thoughts to my mouth,
I would without hesitance.
these sentences derail before I finish speaking,
and the only thing you notice
is the crash.

each time you leave,
you take another piece of me with you,
and leave all of these open wounds festering with guilt.
you were never the missing part of me;
you made yourself my other half
by tearing holes in my words,
and filling them with apologies.

I was only a body to fill the empty space
you thought she would occupy forever.
I was only a hand to fill the gaps
between your fingers.
you held onto me,
and I thought it might have been love.

when the truth and a lie come from the same 26 letters,
how can you expect me to know the difference?