We sit either side of the bright white screens.
Writing the words we know we're not going to say.
It's just broken me right?
You said that once.
You said that twice.
I'm listening to the radio, just out of range.
And the crackles bleed deep into what I need to tune into you.
Because there was one time,
I'm sure,
I could turn a switch to just
keep you loving me.
You did, didn't you?
You
loved
me.
I'm not being conceited, you know me better than that.
But you said it once.
You let yourself get to that point.
That's not the point.
I'm happy you're happy.
That's what I said right - that's what you say right?
To people you love.
Yes, I loved you.
I don't think I said it to you when I should have.
There.
That's the point.
We said it, the words fell onto empty feelings
You said you loved me and that's ******* crazy.
I said I loved you two years later, that's ******* stupid.
At a point with us you thought it was fine to rely on me.
It wasn't.
And you knew that.
But now I'm ready.
And you know that.
And I ******* hate that no one can get close to me because of you.

-

I blame you for opening my eyes to everything amazing about needing someone, caring for someone more than anything else in the world, and wanting them even more than that.
So  let's pretend we don't know each other.
Sitting either side of our white screens.
Writing for something that is so lost.