To the person I love,
I’m not going to say I’m sorry because as much as I am, I also am not. The things I said were not meant to be insulting. They were only insecure concerns, my own battle I dragged you into. Intentions of gold were laced between the words I spilled onto your collarbone between sheets. I love you and that scares me. You were hurt under all those layers of confidence and compliments and… Something I would try to fix with no success. My forgiveness and recurring visits to your bed only a reflection on my own desperate self. Stupidity and love, more the same than I ever thought. No warnings or judgement could ever make me doubt you, and there I was making lies because all those warnings from judgemental friends had struck a core with me. Shaking all the things I thought to be true. Making me hate myself more than I ever could you. We were running out of time. It slipped out from underneath us as ten months turned to six, turned to three, turned to one. And soon we were left with only a few weeks filled with conflicting scheduled lives and I miss yous. Wasting our time when we could have been wasting it together. And just like that some insignificant stupid words I nervously mumbled were enough to push you over the edge. Take it out on me boy. My fault? I guess. Regrets? I have them but I’m glad I do. If it wasn’t for me saying those words I would have never realized how childish and conceited you could be. Taking my personal fears as an insult to yourself. Cutting me off without closure. All I wanted was a simple goodbye. You’ll call me again, I’m sure. You always do. You love me right? Expectations to disappointment. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, I don’t.