A letter to the boy I could not love

Thank you for all the kind words, they’ll last a lifetime. I know you’re hurting now but unlike the words you spoke the hurt will fade. I’m sorry your bed is stained by the tears I caused. I’m sorry your passenger seat is covered in my cigarette ashes. I’m sorry your pillow was left with my lipstick marks. I’m sorry every girl who hurts you will remind you of me. I’m sorry I left you with so many pieces of me I’ll never truly be absent.

But run yourself a hot bath, pour yourself a glass of wine, shed a couple tears, smoke a few cigarettes, listen to some sad songs, and keep the knives away. Soon the wounds will heal and you’ll forget the colour of my eyes and the songs will no longer seem like they were written about me. Soon you’ll stop searching for me in the crowded streets. You won’t think of your hands in my hair, or my fingers interlocked with yours. You’ll erase my laughter from your memory and your favourite T-shirt will lose my scent and you’ll be whole without me around.

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Different

I haven’t been writing like before,

The only thing that drives me to pick up a pen anymore are a few glasses of whiskey.

I haven’t been singing lately,

The way I did with you in the shower,

Maybe because I’m always on my own and things we used to do together makes me feel lonely.

I don’t sleep enough,

I only dream of you at my feet and waking up is too painful.

When you left you left your sent on my skin and I’ve scrubbed for three days straight but you just won’t disappear.

I don’t go to all my classes,

They feel too long and I’m not paying attention anyway.

I don’t paint,

I always find my way to the colour of your eyes and it’s not beautiful anymore,

It’s tragic.

I don’t spend much time at home,

The walls want to know where you went and I don’t have the answer.

I forgot to eat today,

I didn’t realize until I got ill and had nothing in my system but the vodka that goes down like water these days.

I wouldn’t

I could fucking kill him.

I could gently wrap my hands around his neck and watch the life drain from his face.

I could take his pillow from beneath my head and turn to his sleeping frame beside me late morning and press it to his face, smothering him until his body goes limp.

I could slip something in his drink the next time we go out.

Better yet,

I could fucking kill myself.

I could take a bath at his house, and take one of his over used razors to my wrists.

I could tie a noose tightly around my neck attached to his bedroom ceiling while he’s busying sleeping until noon.

I could make the rest of his thoughts revolve around me,

I won’t.

But what a powerful thought to know I could.