And I don't dream about you anymore,
But I still get scared when someone pretends to hit me,
And I can still feel that empty ache in my chest
In the middle of the night.
And I talked ad nauseum about the things you did to me,
But only once about losing you.
How do I explain the secret beautiful parts
Of the boy with the scars?
How do I explain the difference between
The boy with the lovely words and utopian dreams
And the one who put my head through the drywall?
How the pain of having you
Will never come close
To the exquisite agony of knowing I will never see you again?
I loved you, at least a little bit,
And that matters,
Too.