i knew i had to leave him
not because i didnt care, because God knows I did.
but because he didnt inspire me
no words of love came to me when i looked at him
i did not think it was adorable how his nose was crooked
i did not think the way his hair flopped over was imperfectly perfect
i did not think that even in his saddest, angriest, or generally unhappy states that he was still somehow wonderful in a jaw-dropping, ‘god youre still so perfect even like this’ way.
i write poetry, thats what i do
and all i could write about him was how supportive and comforting he was.
it became one sided
being near him was draining;being with him was a chore.
i was becoming the type of person
that he would be writing the sad words about
i was giving him the distance
he could feel in his heart
even when we were together.
and i couldnt continue on like that
i couldnt let myself become a monster to him
one of the monsters even i write about at night.