dear heartbreaker:
this is the truth: there is still a part of me that cares, and i can't get rid of it for the life of me. no matter how hard i tear at my chest, no matter what i use, no matter how much i want it to, that part will never leave me.
this is the lie: i'm over you.
this is the truth: maybe i'm to blame for my own heartache. maybe if my heart wasn't as fragile as a blade of grass, i wouldn't have let myself get this far.
this is the lie: i can count how many times i cried over you on one hand.
this is the truth: i still love you. and i hate myself for it. i lost myself to you, but not in the way i wanted to. and i know it's my fault - for loving the wickedest parts of you, and not running when they told me to.
this is the lie: i don't regret it.
this is the truth: i wish i could take it all back. i wish i could take back my love, my heart, my time, my work, everything i gave you, because none of it - none of it - was worth it.
this is the lie: i'm sorry.
YOU ARE READING
dear heartbreaker
Poetryyou'll live forever in the pages of my journal; i can't think of a worse punishment. [a book of prose for all the broken hearts out there]
