Maybe I’m Just The ‘Pathetic’ Girl Still In Love With You, So What?

Everyone wants me to spit it out.
They’re salivating at my own undoing,
anticipating the sentence that has me shedding all armor.
Savoring this image,
How I’m that girl now,
The antithesis of anything remotely cool and moved on.
I’m gossip blogs
and conversations between old high school peers.
“Do you read the stuff she writes?”
“It’s about him, right?”
“Hahahah, oh god. Someone needs a lesson in letting go.”

Valid.
Valid,
I whisper it to myself when I can’t sleep.
They’re all right.

So here it is,
The truth that has people watching my destruction,
a car wreck on the side of the road,
I can see all of them rubbernecking my heartbreak.

And there are far worse things in this world than that.

People keep expecting metaphors to roll off my tongue,
Words that will somehow stitch up wounds
from battles fought long ago.
Maybe she’s just doing it for the attention,
or the sake of her art.
I hear you whispering,
I am not deaf.

So here it is,
There’s no way to make this sound pretty,
or special,
or like I’ve got my shit together.
I’m just finally being honest.
Ripping apart the pristine paneling that’s kept me in place,
I’m throwing stones at barricades until they give way.
I’ve stopped writing about people who were always just glorified 30 minute sitcoms,
Something to numb it all.
I was good at that,
Forgetting about the real stuff.

Well, it’s gone and now,
I can’t fast forward commercials.
I’m left looking at the destruction,
Remains on all sides.
They are all you.
Everything is you.
I faked it for so long.
Distractions,
it turns out,
are useful little suckers.
But they expire.

Turns out?


My love for you?


It doesn’t.

It sits waiting in the back of the cupboard,
a bottle of wine.
Aging,
I’m waiting.
Aging.
I bet we still taste good.

I bet we’d taste even better.