Am i so easily replaced?
So ancillary as to be discarded,
left behind in the dust
of your burgeoning adventure?
Am I so wrong?
Should my pain be chalked
as simple overreaction?
As a miscommunication,
too hung up on the past?
I knew I never “had” you
the door to love long since passed,
that it was always meant to be casual;
but in this long, constricting lonesome,
the thought of “losing”,
even what one does not possess,
peels nails from their fingers-beds.
Jabs holes in florid memory.
Should I not feel so alone?
So scared that that once-normal life
cannot be resumed?
I will support you, my friend,
I know regardless I must,
but haven’t I a right to hurt?