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you will fade from my life like the snow melting.
slowly, surely, and leaving me
ready to bloom.
Timeless in our archives,
Immune from heartless knives,
Bravery streaks your face,
Stage fright, my ultimate chase,
We run faithfully away,
Stayed hidden in the art closet for a day,
Nightmares of my nemesis,
Duchess of the venomous,
Our loyalty marked by,
The city of Versailles,
Have I bitten you,
Have I gone too blue?
You never bid me a fair adieu,
We were the best of friends,
Is it because of her Mercedes-Benz?
Why bury me so deep,
In the mountain of poisoned apples,
Where the ocean of watercolors never dapples?
Surrender the streams,
Of eternity,
I wish you a farewell,
From the deepest depths,
In the abyss of Siberian steppes
I kind of miss you now...even after such a horrible fall out. Why did you shut me out so suddenly?
we've said our goodbyes,
but your eyes won't let me go.
goodnight < 3
-"No, I'm not letting you go."

= "Princess, I need to go home, you know."

-"Have you stopped loving me, forever?"

= "Never!"

- "So what will you say before you leave?"

= "Honey, I love you, that you can believe."

So you kissed me....

                                    And I kissed you back....

Without a single reason....
Without a single doubt.....
Without understanding why....
Without thinking straight....

I held onto you tighter than usual....
Embracing you as if sending you to war.....
As if I would never again - .....




So you left.....

Me....

With a goodbye kiss....



I did send you off to war....

You dropped a bombshell on me...

You left me with a goodbye kiss forever....


Without a single reason....
Without a single doubt.....
Without understanding why....
Without thinking straight....



How much I must have loved you that I felt what you felt before you felt it yourself.......

  
👋💋👋💋👋💋
Betrayal hurts twice as much when somehow, somewhere in your mind, you already expect it......

And worst of all......

You don't understand why......
You thought that time was poetry,
Gifting each and every day.
But now the soft wind gently calls,
These leaves of life have blown away.

You thought goodbyes were poetry,
Just how the stars fade into dawn.
But they are only sleeping,
And are never really gone.

But maybe death was poetry,
And perhaps you’ve lived enough.
Farewells don’t need to mean the end,
And you’ll finally rest above.

So perhaps this was all poetry,
It’s not always bad to die.
Your dawn is finally breaking,
It is time to say goodbye.
I never thought
I could be the one you'd choose.
I never knew I had so much to lose.
I never thought
I'd be the one to say goodbye.
I never thought
that I could make you cry.
But then I died.
Saint Agnes is what my mother should be called.
When she died, I was both saddened and appalled.
I admire women homemakers more than women who work because Mom was a homemaker.
I was devastated on March the 6th of 2013 because my poor mother needed an undertaker.

Mom wasn't actually a saint but she was as close as a person could get.
You would've been very happy and fortunate if you and Mom had met.
She was a wonderful mother and that's something I'm proud to confess.
She was one in a million and she should be called Saint Agnes.
DEDICATED TO AGNES M. JOHNSON (1948-2013) WHO PASSED AWAY ON MARCH 6, 2013
why would you smoke a cigarette
but leave half of it dropped onto the sidewalk?

“our cigarette butts leave signs,”
you told me,
“I threw it there to
let others know that
I can control my bad habits.”

this is who you are.
you’re the type of person
who leaves cigarette butts on concrete
to scream “I was here.”

you’re the type of person
who purposefully lives an unfinished life
for the world to wonder
what you would’ve done
if you had more time.

this was the same way you left me.
halfway through our dreams and goals,
only to find out that I loved you
wholeheartedly, obsessively, and recklessly,
while you walked away
with a mouthful of tobacco smoke
and halfway love.
When I found out you had cancer,
I was angry. Livid. Scared.
Although they gave you eighteen months,
It's nothing when compared.

No time would ever be enough,
To say our last goodbyes,
But Covid-19 took away,
The chance before you died.

You lived beyond those eighteen months,
You were stronger than us all!
You fought so hard with all you had,
But we reached your final call.

I miss you more than words can say,
Forever now apart,
Just knowing we won't speak again,
Weighs heavy on my heart.

Fly happy, with the angels, love
I'll miss you more, dear friend,
Until we meet at heavens doors,
On my memories, I'll depend

RIP ♡
I’m alright, I promise. You don’t have to worry.

I know that every note I give to you now sparks fear in the pit of your stomach, and you skim over my sentences looking for words like “suicide” and “I’m sorry.”

When I hand you a note, you examine every word. From my handwriting to the ink I use, you take in every detail. You read between the lines now even on a blank sheet of paper, where there aren’t any lines to read between.

Your eyes are trained to spot the differences now. My life has become a game of Clue where you are the only player.

When my voice cracks, even the slightest bit, your ears have been conditioned to tune in immediately. You are constantly scanning for hesitation when I talk. You watch me to see if my hands shake, or if I bite my lip. You are searching for the warning signs that you think you missed last time, even though I never showed any.

They say that when you lose one sense, your other senses grow stronger to compensate. We say that we’ve become so close, but what we mean is that we’ve always been codependent. We did not bond over shared trauma; we bonded over a mutual fear of being alone. Our anxieties have molded into one huge, chaotic mess. Our fears have become so tangled that neither of us know who is afraid of what anymore. The only fear I am certain of is the fear of losing you.

I lost my ability to feel anything, and you developed a sense of hypersensitivity to balance out my numbness. I stopped caring about myself, so you started caring about me even more. You feel too much when I feel nothing.

I know you won’t believe me, but this is not a suicide note. You don’t need to worry about me. I’d promise you, but I’ve broken so many promises that I know they have no meaning anymore.

I cause you pain. There’s no use in denying it; we both know it’s true. I’m not trying to push you away. Even if I did, I know you’d come back. I have been draining your happiness and health slowly. Now, I am trying to rip off this bandaid all at once.

I’d rather you hurt from this revelation of who I really am. I’d rather you hate me for being someone who takes the easy way out, than hurt you by letting you believe that I have the potential to be in love.

I am capable of loving, and maybe I don’t show it the way that I should, but I love you. God, you have no idea how much I love you.

What I am not capable of is trusting. I love you, but I can’t trust you. I have no trust left, not even for myself.

And what is there without trust? Love itself isn’t enough to build a relationship off of. We talk about love as if it is a miracle. In every fairytale, true love is what saves the princess. Love breaks the curse. Love can turn a frog into a prince, a beast into a man. We talk about love as if it cures all. But love isn’t as powerful as we make it sound. You can’t love someone back to life.

I don’t know if I even want to save myself anymore, and you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. I am so grateful for your love, but your love alone is not enough.

I’ve always said I’m a realist; you’ve always said I’m nothing more than a pessimist in disguise. Maybe that’s true, maybe I do see only the negative side of things. But those negatives have kept me safe. I prepare myself for the worst so that I can never be disappointed, only pleasantly surprised. I can never be let down. In a way, I guess we’re both right. Pessimism has been my reality. This numbness has been my reality.

When you’re done reading this note, please tear it up into a thousand tiny pieces. Rip it, crumble it, destroy it. Make it impossible to reread. Please throw it away and don’t dig it back up. Please walk away and don’t look back.

If you turn back around, and if I look into your eyes again, I know that I will not let you leave. I will pull you back to me and let this cycle of destruction begin all over again. I hurt myself, which hurts you, which hurts me. It will not end.

When you go through the photos of us on your phone, please go through them quickly. If you have to delete them, then delete them. Deleting a picture doesn’t delete the memory with it. I know that, but it’s a start. One less photograph is one less reminder of me. One day, when you’re strong enough, maybe you can go back and flip through our old albums. But by the time you are strong enough to live healthily without me, I doubt you’ll still have them saved. One day, you will leave me in the past. It’s hard for me to admit it, but I know that is where I belong.

When you climb into your bed at the end of the night, please do not remember me sleeping next to you. I know how wrong the bed will feel when you get up in the morning and notice that there is no warm spot left on the other side. I know how strange it will be to turn over and not roll into my arms. This loneliness will feel like a foreign language, but please, learn to understand it. The words will eventually feel natural on your tongue, even if it doesn’t happen until your tongue is in the mouth of someone new.

When what used to be our songs play on shuffle, please don’t ruin them with thoughts of me. I want you to be able to hear their lyrics without pain. You deserve to smile when songs begin to play. I don’t want you to have to turn the radio off. You deserve to blast your music loud, and to sing without embarrassment. You deserve someone who will dance with you around the kitchen the way that we did once. You deserve someone who makes you laugh, and who makes you feel loved. Despite what you have made yourself believe, you deserve better than this.

These songs deserve to mark happy occasions, not to bring up bad memories. They deserve to be sung to, not cried over. They deserve to be shared with someone who’d mention their titles to you in love letters, not someone who only writes you suicide notes.
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