Are you?
Its okay to not see my breaking heart. I don't expect you to open the cavern of my chest to peek at the muscles and ribs. I don't expect you to notice. That sounds childish, sounds stupid, sounds like I'm seeking your attention. Your approval.
I don't need your goddamn approval though. I need you. I needed you. I won't in the future.
I don't need your love, or lack thereof; I don't need you anymore. I wanted you. I wanted something from you that I have to find in myself. I think. I don't know.
I'm not good at being myself. You seem annoyed by that. I can't apologize for that, because I am not an apology. I am imperfectly myself. Whoever that is.
I used to whisper your name, because I liked the feel of it in my mouth. The way my tongue caressed the letters and the whimper of my voice. Now I won't give myself that. Not because it is wrong to love your name, to love you or who I have thought you to be, but because I can't keep doing this to myself.
I am not okay.
Maybe I never was to begin with. Maybe I never will be. 45 second intervals are all I have to relax. All I have to hold myself in place.
I fucking loved you. That is not to say you should love me back. You are under NO obligation to do so. None. I'm not angry that I loved you and received no inklings on your end. This isn't just about one-sided loves.
Its about how you disappear off the face of my earth and casually come back to remind me that you are the sunlight in the caverns of my chest. Its about how you disappear and leave me wandering in the snow, begging for just a glimpse of sunshine. Its about how you leave me behind and then deign to give me a small catch up.
I have tried desperately to hang on. You leave me dangling, like a worm at the end of a hook; knowing I'll still be there when you decide to come back.
I don't care if you love me. I don't care if you want to be with me. I wish I could erase those dreams, desires, wishes, tortures; from my neural pathways. I am Icarus thrown from the sky by the Sun he so longed to worship. You were the sun blossoming against the horizon of my cavernous chest, slowly brightening my skies inside of me. You were rising and then suddenly your light fell from the sky, colliding with the wormholes and the voids of the universe; swallowed up by Chronos' gaping maw.
And maybe that's a problem with me. That I latched onto your small offerings of light like a starving child on bread. Your voice in my ears was like hearing for the first time and I loved you like the created love their creator.
Maybe I was obsessed. Maybe I shouldn't have dreamed about you like I did. Maybe there are many things I should or shouldn't have done.
Would it hurt less if I let you go now? Would all of my questions, my longing, my dying whispers, fade if I just told you goodbye?
I can't let your name enter my mouth. It tastes so sweet, but it is as bitter as poison.
I just wish you'd tell me the truth. More of the truth than you have. You don't lie to me, but you aren't honest either. You leave portions of the truth out when you speak to me now. What happened? What changed from last year when we talked as if there was nothing else to do but talk?
Have you already let me go?
