Regret.

I regret the words I’ve written about you. And the time I spent sitting down with a pen and a notebook in front of me. The restless nights ‘cause I couldn’t believe how happy I was and I needed to get it on paper to believe it. I couldn’t focus on much else, you were so distracting. The nights I poured my heart out to you and listened to you put me back together with your words. I wasted so much time writing so many words for you but now, I only have two left… Fuck you.

Home.

You lay your head on my chest and immediately sat back up. When I asked you what was wrong you said you couldn’t do it, you said my heart beats differently than anybody else’s and that it sounded so familiar it almost made you cry. Be brave and come home because you know it only beats for you.

Again.

You know I’d do anything for you, right? I hate it. You came back for a brief time and it was like the darkness had been lifted again. A weight lifted off my shoulders and I looked at your face and you were you again. You said words that had the power to fix what you broke and I believed everything you said. I thought everything was going to get better but shame on me for believing you. It sucks that you’d choose someone who doesn’t love you over someone who looks at you like you put the fucking stars in the sky. Well you’re gone again and now the sky is back to being black and there are no stars here.

Actions.

I think it’s you that I keep writing about but maybe it’s her. It’s bad that I can’t even tell anymore. Getting my heart broken again just reminds me of the first time and I just live in a high speed nostalgic blur.

People tell me my words are beautiful, maybe because they’re written for you. They don’t know though that when I stare at this blank fucking page all I feel is rage and crushing heartbreak. These words spill from my fingers but it’s still nothing close to what I feel.

I wish actions could be translated into words because I would write me smashing my fist into a wall because I saw you with her or I would write credit cards and rolled up bank notes and pupils the size of of moons as I try to forget you for the tenth time that day. I would write me standing in the scalding hot shower trying to remember the exact moment where you weren’t mine anymore. I would write how my eyes burn as I lie there staring at the ceiling again because staying up late was only fun when your head was on my chest and I couldn’t bear to be without you for a second.

If actions could be translated into words that’s what would fill my pages. I guess I just wish you were still around, okay?

I think it hurt when I stumbled across her that night. I could sense trouble but she was beautiful and my curiosity got the better of me. Again. I remember looking at her and I could see pain echoed in her eyes. She didn’t need me to pick up the pieces but it didn’t stop me from wanting to. She was so beautiful when she laughed that I just wanted to see her happy. Every time I made her laugh I thought about how I wanted to make her laugh forever.

In the end, she got better and happier and gathered herself up and walked away.

But she didn’t take me with her.

So now, I’m stuck here where I found her that first night wondering if all these broken pieces left on the floor are hers or mine.