I was going to write you a poem for Valentine’s Day. Nothing fancy, nothing over the top. Just cause I knew how much you liked my words. I didn’t expect to become so ill so quickly. I didn’t know that I would feel as though my gut had been braided tighter than corn rows. The problem is though, when I was ill, I lost control of myself. I became someone I wasn’t proud of. Someone who couldn’t trust. I wasn’t eating, hardly sleeping, and it made everything worse. I spiraled, lost myself and what I wanted most in the process. Cause when it came down to it, instead of shutting up I blew up. Total self-destruct. You wanted to see what my darkest parts were, well they only come out at the worst time. I’m not convenient. I’m not simple, I’m not easy. But I love you more than words can explain.
I’m not proud of my actions. Hell, I’d take it all back, complete 180°. Stress, anxiety, depression, these are issues I was supposed to leave you out of. I was able to talk, I was able to be alright with you hanging out with people other than me. It wasn’t until I noticed you held his blanket closer than you held my hands that I got scared, and all it would’ve taken is a simple moment of thought to figure out I was overreacting. I told you I was unstable, and you said it would be fine, that you loved me and wanted to be there for me. But I know well in my heart that every single person has their limits. I should never have expected you to survive the darkest parts of my mind when you yourself were having issues just getting me to listen to the other things that were bothering you.
Do you remember how you felt on Christmas? The love, the happiness, the peace. Or when we talked of a future now unforeseeable together? Perhaps you’ll remember when we lay there on New Years knowing we would have issues and fights, we thought we could make it through them. It looks like we were wrong. That’s the unfortunate part about words, they carry so very much power with them, but not a scrap of worth if actions cannot back them up. I told you I’d never hurt you, never make you angry. I did. You told me I couldn’t make you angry, that I couldn’t drive you away. I did. We said we’d work through anything, we’d be together forever, we’d love each other more than anything. We didn’t.
So now I am left to wonder, does your chest feel like it’s been cracked in, heart torn out not with scalpel and forceps, but with a violent hand? Does your brain scream my name in pain because you long to hear from me just another time? Do your eyes ache, still marching out more tears even though you’ve spent the last few weeks crying because mine do. Are you met with wishes to just talk to me but feel I’m too hurt to try, to weak to forgive, too lost to redeem?
When I hand you this, will you ever read as far as this sentence?