I wish I could string together some pretty words like a piece of patchwork to describe the way you left my heart as a pile of crushed pieces somewhere still on my sleeve, but there’s nothing lovely about heartbreak. There’s nothing beautiful about the train that seems to rest inside my chest until I see your name, and suddenly it’s smashing repeatedly against a ribcage that is already on the verge of its break.
And there’s nothing worth mentioning about the way I think my airways might be blocked by a knife or two, but I’ll mention it still, because these words are meant to somehow get to you. I’m starting to think that the way you hacked at my skin with words poisoned by sin has just forced my airways to collapse completely - you really took my breath away.
And at first I thought there was something exhilarating about not being able to breathe but now it’s just a pain in the neck and I wish you’d give me my breath back, because you’ve held it in your stupid, soft hands for far too long.
I’ve written poems upon stories upon songs about the way I miss you like I miss catching snowflakes when I was five years old, but ‘goodbye’ is not a pretty song. It’s crying on the floor, the blanket stuffed under the door, because I don’t want anyone to see me like this, I’m supposed to be strong.
And I hate that you could make me so weak that I could barely speak for days without thinking something inside me would break. And my throat was so sore because I kept trying to cough out your name, but it still rests on my tongue at the end of the day, when I’m watching movies that remind me that fixing hearts isn’t fucking easy - I want to throw something at the goddamn screen.
And my heart may be fixed with double sided tape and consolation and little dates, but I’m not here to rub it in your face that I will move on one day. I’m just saying that I wish opening a book wasn’t attached to worries of how much it’s going to make me cry or how much I’m going to want to tear apart the page where the lover says ‘it’s okay’ when it’s not. This is not okay, and it’ll never be okay that I can’t go more than half an hour without wanting to slip your name into the conversation.
I wish there was some pretty way to say, ‘I miss you, but I shouldn’t because you made me lose all faith that there could be a me after you,’ but there isn’t. And for once I won’t say I’m sorry, because I wasn’t the one who stopped loving you. And for once, I won’t pretend to say ‘goodbye’ because I’ve tried that countless times and it just ends in watery eyes every goddamn night.
And that is how much you hurt me.