Could've been poetic

The reason we never saw

You never saw me cry for you,

In the early mornings when I most needed to read you,

Searching for an answer as to why you never fought for me.

You never saw me glance at my cell phone almost every five minutes,

At your ring every ten,

At that bracelet every twenty

My keychain every thirty.

You never saw me struggle within myself,

When I did not know whether to give you up out of self-love and get on with my life

Or scroll through my highlighted WhatsApp messages and pretend you resending them back.

It somehow always ended up being the second one.

You never saw me as my heart would break whenever you would do the same to a promise,

When you were distant,

And I am not referring physically.

When you would get further and further away from me

Again, not from a physical perspective.

When hours would pass with no message and hours would turn into days.

When you would ignore me on a social network and show off on a different one.

You never saw me waking up at five o'clock in the morning.

Seeking my phone, not even being aware of what I was doing,

Just in case that you had sent something.

You never saw me wake up at midnight,

The same nightmare on that evening where I summoned the courage to come and see you,

Not to waste anymore time,

When I had a fever and was trembling

Fatality sweating from every pore and the tiredness you robbed me of poured through my eyes,

Just to see her kissing you.

Right where I most wanted to be.

But you also never saw me drying my tears after reading a message where you told me that I was worth it,

That I should go outside and rule the whole world,

And that you miss me.

You never saw the way my heart soothed as you captioned a picture with verses that had my name written in fine print, nor did I fear that it might not be meant for me,

For I bet on you.

You never saw me scribbling on my wrist the remaining number of days left to meet each other

Making the bloody wait easier on me,

Making me smirk as tears nearly brimmed.

Just before I screwed it all up.

Which is what I was addressing about in a different poem,

The one where I told you how hurting it is for me

To miss so many little things about you.

For I too have never seen you lying restless in your bed,

Worrying whether my dress is lying on the floor of any room,

Or whether my heart undresses for another.

I never saw you waiting for a cue as to whether I arrive at five at the station or depart at half past two.

I never saw you read about my dread of losing you to alleviate your own worry about losing me.

I never saw you cry whenever I would turn around, because I never did.

I never saw you picturing me beneath you as the world stood right above.

And perhaps that is the reason for my insecurities,

The reason I chose not to catch the bus that particular day.

The reason I did not write to you the previous night either.

Nor the next.

I suppose not being able to see some things,

can make them very complicated.

On the other hand, I do have a contradicting theory.

I often ponder over why I cannot reply to you occasionally with a simple "Hi" online,

Yet here I am, already thirty-four chapters written just for you.

(Thirty-five should this one not remain in the drafts).

I suppose it becomes somewhat easier to write back when I do not see your name displayed on the screen.

And perhaps that is the reason for your insecurities,

The reason you decided that day not to want to know the reason,

The reason you never wrote to me the previous night either.

Nor the next.