i didn’t want to write this.

not when you’re no longer laying next to me.
the warmth from your skin no longer seeping into mine.

i didn’t want to write this.
not without your hand intertwined with mine.
fingers wrapped so delicately around each other.

i didn’t want to write this.
not because it doesn’t hurt anymore.
i’m reminded of you every single day.

i really didn’t want to write this.
but i did.

because it still hurts that i wasn’t good enough for you.
it kills me that it seemed easy for you to leave so suddenly.
it pains me that you probably never looked back once.

but that pain is still there.
i promise you that.

so i guess i wrote this to remind you.
(or remind myself of you)
i wrote this to remind you that even 3 months, numerous attempts to say your name without the bitter aftertaste, and several poems later, it’s still hard to pretend that i was never close with you.

laying next to you.
my body warmth seeping into yours.  
fingers wrapped delicately.

you feel that?
it’s the pain,
still there.