The blinking of a cursor as I wonder what to say,
The knowledge that nothing I say could really encompass it all.
The sound of a ukulele in the background,
A song of quiet memory,
My gratitude overwhelming,
Yet now I'm sick to my stomach.
I love you, my dear,
More than I can ever dream of showing you.
And it aches. But every day it's a little easier,
Especially as you learn what I've been trying to teach you all along.
I'm not worth loving, simply,
And I hope it gets easier every time I disappoint you.
Easier to let me go.
Easier to take off those rose tinged glasses,
Easier to let the truth slip into your vision.
Easier to see me for someone I am rather than someone I'm not.
I'm not some beautiful thing to look up to,
I'm not something to hold as a role model,
I'm broken. A loser. Someone that should have been left behind a long time ago,
And yet you're still here.
Thank you for that.
But I know every day it gets a little easier to let me go,
And it makes me happy, but also very sad.
I wish you knew that by telling me you'll never stop loving me,
You're lying to me.
Everyone gets sick of me eventually,
A self-fulfilling prophecy uttered by cracked and bleeding lips,
But you're learning the truth of it.
I'm destroyed, and all I can do is cause destruction.
It's okay, I don't need more lies or reassurances,
I just need to know that you'll be okay.
When I fade away,
When I'm gone and can no longer hurt you,
You'll be okay.
And that's enough for me, in an odd way,
To know that even though you're learning to hate me,
It means you'll feel better in the end.
YOU ARE READING
Air Conditioning
PoetryVent poetry It's frowned upon putting your heart on your sleeve with such a weak code like a three number pin. For both of our sakes I hope you aren't the type to spend your time digging your claws in and working to decode someone else's words an...
