if he is the reason why i will never love another, then you are the reason why I will never love.
i have this recurring dream that is actually a memory from years ago. my body sat on the edge of your twin bed, but my mind swirled in past and possibility. you jerked me back to reality with a simple statement: "you look sad."
"i am sad," i whispered, to you and to me.
i am writing you this love letter, x, to tell you that you are not alone. when you enclose into the elliptical caress of your emotionless psyche, please know i too exist somewhere likely sucking my own metaphorical wounds. our monkeyrope is your attachment to my pain; you knew there were only so many times you could fuck me (over) and return to her the next morning, as if your guilt was worth more than my foolish hope. you knew there were only so many times, x, you could deny (knowing) me, as if your attractiveness depends on your dark solitude and not on my pathetic belief that you'll change. you knew there were only so many times you could wipe off my kiss before your own lips started to blur (partial) lies from (slanted) truth. you can tell them whatever you want; you're the one who doesn't sleep at night.
no, x, you are not alone. please know that you're not the only one who may be comfortable but not in love. because you have made it this way.
love,
a.
just to see what if
just to see what is
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