I’ve been drawing your name on the sand, watching the ocean waves tear it apart, wishing that memories worked the same way. I tried to remember all the good things you’ve done for me but even the perfect days seem tainted now, and I’m losing the last bit of me that still understands you. I’m losing the part of me that still wants to forgive.
I wish I could show you the damage in flesh and blood, the broken pieces inside, the scattered remains of my mind. But you weren’t around when I was lying on the floor in the dark, begging for death to take me. I wonder if you would still have had the strength to walk away without questioning how I would survive this sort of pain. Would the monster come out and play a little sooner, or would you have worked harder to hide him. I am trying to tell you that I’m made of stronger stuff than scar tissue and bones, but please don’t insult the both of us by claiming you never meant to hurt me.
Had you known I would have hurt you back, would you have left quicker, or would you have lied better? If you knew I would seek revenge, would you appease me, would you say you’re sorry? If you knew you had no chances left, would you admit you were wrong, and let me hold you to your mistakes? If you could take responsibility, would you save another life, would you save it twice?
I was naive enough to think I meant more than the girls who always left in the morning, and I still blame you for letting me believe it. I broke every rule in your book only to find that there was no happy ending, and now I’m stuck here wanting to rewrite the past when I know we’re no good together.
All our leftover love is turning into acid, making my kisses taste sour.
All my leftover heart is cracked right open, darling, this hurts more than dying.