i waited for you to come back
and you never did
and i know you didn’t do that to hurt me
but my chest is tight and my eyes are wet and i can’t stop these thoughts
thoughts of not being enough of a reason for you to come back up the stairs and hold me
thoughts of being a little girl and waking up and walking thru the house to find no one
you can’t fake that kind of empty
you can’t fake that kind of fear
thoughts of how because of this, i hate myself
i hate myself for allowing this meaningless act to make or break my entire day
i hate myself for letting irrational fears of the little girl inside me dictate my self worth
i hate that now that you’re back my butterflies have been replaced with razor blades
i hate that now i can’t look you in your eyes because i’m scared that perhaps maybe my thoughts are right, and your eyes will confirm it
and in all honesty i’d rather look at the ground and i hate myself, than to ever meet your eyes and have them hate me