Cover It Up

I dont remember

I never knew your cologne. I never saw a picture that stuck in my head of you because my mind was too dark. But I know how you made me feel.
Alive.
I felt like my blood was finally flowing again. I was warm again. I wasn't frozen in my prison anymore. I knew I was okay because you spoke to me. You told me I was okay and calmed me down, even when you were why I was shaking. For a long time, you made me feel okay. I wasn't broken anymore. I wasn't just a toy for the world to break apart and force back together. I was something to someone.
And now...
We don't even talk anymore.
Let me rephrase that... We don't talk unless I'm ready to nosedive onto the pavement from a ten story building. We don't talk until I have the contents of a pill bottle in my mouth. We don't talk until I have one foot off the sidewalk, ready to fall in front of the truck headed my way.
We don't talk anymore because I don't want to die anymore.
Not all the time at least.
I want to live so that one day, I can prove to you that I am good enough. So I can show you that you missed out on me. So I can let you see where each scar you burned into my skin resides all because you left me alone with my thoughts when I needed you most.
But for a while...
When I felt what it was like to be loved...
For a while, I was okay. I knew I was okay because I knew someone actually loved me and didn't just want to use me so that I would fall for them and be thrown away.
I've spent many nights since then lying in my bathtub in red tinted water because I was thinking of some of the things you said to me.
"We don't have anything else to talk about."
"What else is there to do?"
"Okay, goodbye I guess?"
"You aren't worth my time..."
I remember each word. Some were lined with venom, others were laced in pain and worry. And the last few?
Begging of forgiveness.
Because you knew you fucked up. You knew that night would be the last time we spoke on levels of friends and now comfortable strangers.
And I'm sorry I wasn't enough.
I'm not sorry I don't remember your cologne. And I'm not sorry I don't know the color of your eyes anymore. Or the way your hair felt between my fingers. I'm not sorry that I can live without you. But I'm sorry that I can't forget the way a life with you in it felt. I'm sorry I can't remember a time that I was okay.