So often,
I find myself whispering
that there is no such thing as time wasted.

That there is a lesson to each loss
justification to the pain.

And I believe that.
I do.

I keep whispering to myself
that the time I spent on you
was not wasted.

Even though,
today it hurts
to remember the way we were
the way I could close my eyes and be blind to you.
I keep whispering to myself that you were not a waste of time.

That no matter how worthless and careless and conniving and disappointing
you turned out to be–
the things I learned from your failures
gave grounds to the time I lost loving you.

yes loving.

I loved you.

I cannot stop hating myself for the things that I told you.
that you are decent.
that you are worth more than you know.
Why do I feel like I owe you some sort of apology for that?
For nothing more than some misplaced belief
that you were better than you turned out to be.

Every time
every ******* time
I remind myself that you taught me something
that despite the pain and the reeling
and the way you punished me for becoming disillusioned to you,
you were not a waste of time
I want to scream.

Because you are a waste of air and space
and any other material thing you might have stolen from someone.

But here I am.
Tagging the seconds you cost me with merit.
because I will not give you my life like the others.
I will not give you anything else.