Remember when I told you I never write anything
because I could never say anything that actually meant something?
Well, I lied
and recently I have tried so hard to make every word count
since I rarely get them from you anymore.
You always called me a liar,
you were kidding but you were right, you know.
Every i'm fine was a lie, all the i don't cares as well.
It always mattered and I was never okay.
Without you.
I never lied about how happy you made me
or how much you mattered or how much I -
whatever.
Also, my eating disorder had nothing to do with you
and I can't blame this rain on you and
I don't even have to explain that rain is just an easy word
for depression and suffocating every time I remember anything.
I know it's stupid I'd rather wait around awkwardly than talk to you and look you in the eyes,
but I simply can't be civil with someone I still want to kiss.
And ****. And sleep with and do all the things we never -
I mean you never -
had the time to do.
I know you'll roll your eyes now, but I love you. Or loved you.
I don't want to love anyone else. I don't know if I can.
Who am I kidding, I know I can, but that's not the point.
The point is I miss you like a flower misses its roots after it's been ripped off.
And I'd unlearn all these new habits just to fit your arms
the way I used to.
I'd lose all the new life in me just so you could pick me up and not crack you back.
And about that new life in me. No, I'm not pregnant. I'm just alive, I think. Or at least now I want to be. Sometimes. I don't want to die anymore.
But I haven't been happy, though. Not really.
And I'm sorry I'm weird and called you accidentally and said sorry about the thing you didn't even hear.
I don't know how to be around you. I'm not even talking about acting, see.
I can't breathe around you.
And I hate that we can joke about cheap pizza like we never fell asleep skin to skin.
And I hate how I can't talk to anyone anymore.
I loved talking to you, I could tell you everything
cause I knew you never listened.
I miss that.
Someone pretending to listen.
I miss someone not giving a **** about my unshaved legs.
I miss someone rolling their eyes when I talk about anything.
You were wrong when you said we have nothing in common.
We have, trust me.
I'm swallowing at least the same amount of pills that you do. I'm starting to believe in medication and socialism and, other things.
And all this is just talk
about nothing important.
Is it important that I almost hit a bus the day after?
Or that I screamed my lungs out when my mum told me I'll find someone new.
Funny. Do you still think I'm quiet?
Am I being emotionally manipulative again? Or was I ever?
Did you make it up to shut me up?
Do you believe in second chances?
Or thirds?
Did you have nightmares this time?
Did you regret it? Do you regret it?
Do you miss me?
Does your mother still make four cups of coffee?
Tell her I said hi. Tell her it was all your fault.