love, j 》nomin

12

dear you,

saying words was never one of my strong suits. at least not the ones I should have.

I could talk for ages about nothing, and I did. and you listened.

I suspect you knew what I wanted to say, what I needed to get out.
in your hands, I was a picture book,
my true intentions laid out simply.

sometimes I wonder if we still have that connection.
when I collapse on the floor,
chest heavy and eyes wet,
I hate to think that you know I'm there, that I've given in, that you can see how pathetic I am from across the world.

you were always quiet,
but my imagination made up for it.
I was a child and you were a textbook,
but I tried my best.

there were times I hated myself, disappointed that I was so easy to read, while my own understanding lacked.
I wished I could have been there for you,
could have known all your worries
and the remedies to sooth them.

I hope you'll forgive me. for everything.

my miserable excuse for empathy,
my inability to open up.
every stupid thing I said and every important thing I couldn't get out.

love, j