As the evening
erodes away
into night,
I am put into terror
as I hear the last
few notes of your
favorite song.

I haven't heard it in
years.
It's beautiful actually,
I've forgotten this melody,
but secretly I listened to it
by memory
for weeks on end
after you
left me.

This terror turns into
happiness as I
see you there.
I imagined this
different.
You would be
smiling and happy again.
But no, you are
six feet under the ground now.
Your breathing has ceased,
as well as your love
for me.

And I'm fine with this,
seeing that I have
enough love for the both
of us.

Nightmares would be
better than this
silence you give
me.

How you only use me when
I can help you
with a problem.

My friends were right,
I shouldn't have given
you a second
chance.

But I couldn't help it,
you needed someone
and I always help
you.

It was an impulse
I suppose.
It was a ****** impulse.

And now I grow hatred
towards myself as I
keep giving you more
chances.

Why do I keep giving you
more chances.

Sometimes I forget
what my third period is.

Sometimes I forget
when my best friend's
birthday is.

Sometimes I remember
embarrassing moment
when I was younger.

Sometimes I remember
the pain I was in
while dating you.

I hated myself.
No one saw it either,
I hid behind my
narcissist chatter.
But really I wanted
to change myself
completely.

It's been a year
and I've learn to
accept myself
slowly.
I'm still a work
in progress.
I'm like a blown
piece of glass.
You have to spend
countless hours
fixing it.

I'm fixing myself
but rearranging
my thoughts.
By telling myself
that I'm
something
when I feel like
nothing.

I'm a work in progress,
I can't be changed in
a day.
I'm an unfinished
novel.
One where they
procrastinate to
only hours before
a deadline.

I'm a work in progress,
seeing I don't love
myself completely yet.
But I hope that one day
I will.

And I speak better in written words
because I can go and
fix my mistakes.
I don't have to worry about the constant stuttering
I suffer from.
I am free in emotion and
I can say what I need to
without speaking it to their face.
Written words are
my comfort blanket
seeing if I didn't have them
I would go insane.
I speak better in written words, because written words
are the core
of me.

There was a time when you were caught up
on me instead of her.
That point of time made me feel
victorious.
It sounds awful hearing the words
come out of my mouth,
but I loved knowing I had you
wrapped around my finger.

Time passed and I actually grew
to like you.
You still liked me,
but I was dating
someone else.
I didn't know how to break up
with this person, so I didn't.
I declined dating you even though
I really badly wanted it.
So you moved on and that hurt me,
because I thought that maybe
you would fight for me.

Time kept going by and you were
dating someone new.
You really liked her and
she lived in a different state.
I hated this, the fact that you
didn't like me anymore.
I ignored you and I wanted you to realize;
you liked me, not her.

Finally she broke up with you
a month ago and you
were so ****
pathetic.
You claimed she was
the only one
for you.
I was confused,
why were you saying that
you had to still like me
right?

I was pathetic as well,
I constantly hoped maybe you
would ask me out.
That you would learn
to love me.
Maybe you would tell me that
you had fought and that I,
that I was too blind
to see.

You may have noticed
I must be
the center of attention.
I already know this,
and I know how bad it is.
But I honestly have forgotten
that maybe I should've cared
what everyone else
though instead of what
I thought.

Maybe then I would've been dating you,
that maybe I wouldn't be so stupid.
Maybe I would be someone I wanted to be,
but I am still that little girl who
will always want you there for me
even if I hate you.
You are almost of my person.
You are almost my crush.
You are almost my best friend.
You are almost there.