"Every time somebody asks me if still miss you,
a lump forms in my throat.
Words get stuck, looking for air
because how exactly do you
that breathing starts to feel wrong
and mornings become unbearably dull because the person that
you could’ve written about forever
left without a single
goodbye to seal the sins he had left on your door step.
How exactly do you tell someone
that there are sleepless nights, spent crying and
in your chest
And you waited too long
and wanted too much?
How exactly do you begin to tell someone how much
You want to delete these thoughts
that linger between
sighs and exhales?
I always inhale sharply, wishing
it would be you walking
through the door."
Sometimes I forget I’m supposed to hate you now. (via because-she-loves-words)