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Feb 2013
"You begin to wonder how you've changed."

I'll be honest. It took me by surprise. The words, not the lack of action. I already knew that. I used to be okay with the way you were. I justified it. I 'understood' that you'd had it rough. I made excuses and exceptions  I can't do that for you any more  I won't do that for you.

I've loved you since the day we first talked. I knew then. I still know now. The amount of times I wish I'd never met you, still don't outweigh the tears I've cried. You do this to me. To us.

The amount of times you apologize...I...

You tell me things. No longer do I hear them for what they are. I see them for what you wish they would mean to me. But I can't hear you. I won't.

I have accepted.

I have come to terms.

I know that 'I deserve better!' and 'You're not worth it.' Yet...I still, and stupidly still, think the opposite. I'm oppressed by you. By the thought of you. By the idea of you.

I want out, sometimes. Other times, I never want you to leave.

I know what's wrong with me, and I know what's wrong with you. You don't think I get it. Oh how wrong can one be?

I love you.
I have.
I will.



"And if I have a chance, would you let me know...?"
This was more of a rant, of prose rather than a poem...I guess.
Zoë Westbrooke
Written by
Zoë Westbrooke
484
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