this is the dirty truth.

2

Months ago you showed up at my house before the sun revealed itself just to let me know you were thinking of me.

Now the sound of car doors opening at night remind me of you and I shut my window, but still feel a breeze.

It's the ghost of all our memories coming to lie over me like a blanket on this cold night and keep me up with a suffocating silence,

and I still decide to ask if

It is my fault. Is it my fault? Was I too timid, was I too fragile? Did I come off too hard like a man trying to break through concrete with his own fist?

Did I even get to feel this?

Am I overthinking the breeze,

Or is it getting colder because of my mentality?

Am I living in a freezer,

Could I have saved her?

Who's her? That's me.

The fragile girl who loved too goddamn easily.

What am I trying to say?

This whole thing is risky,

To let out these disconsolated feelings and cry,

to the few stars that scatter the matte black sky.

I wonder if you think too far into it like me and feel guilty due to what your hands have emotionally done to my heart,

taking a perfect grip of it and tearing that shit part.

Better yet, I wonder if you're proud because you hurt me and defined what I felt,

but I continued your unfinished work and destroyed myself.