Honestly, I don’t think I want to even write this poem.

Because as soon as I begin, I will fall for you all over again.

It’s ironic how much I loved you when I didn’t love myself.

I feel like all the words, all the phrases, everything you said, 

It was all a sick joke.

Loving you felt good, and when I believed you loved me too, I felt okay.

But now I portray that I am okay, 

Leaving spaces in the lines I say,

Hoping you can read between them.

Loving you was like breathing after drowning for your whole life,

Loving you was like living up to be what I wanted.

Loved back.

But now, since you left, I can’t seem to even think,

I get up and write about you,

I isolate myself from everyone hoping they won’t see me when I let my guard down. 

I don’t even let my dogs in my room because they can tell when I’m sad.

And I’m always sad.

I can’t eat, 

I can’t sleep, 

I can’t even begin to type what I want to say to you on the phone.

And if I do, I delete it all, careful not to press send because I would just die even more inside if you ever saw what I felt.

I won’t lie… I miss you with every inch of my heart.

And it hurts.

c.b.