I never told you, how you embarrassed me and made me love you at the same time.
I never told you that my heart beats in two languages you don’t speak and you charmed it all the same.
I never told you that thinking about you is my only vice.
I never told you how much the idea of a future without you scared me.
And I never told you how much one with you terrified me.
I never told you how I let my cold feet take me places my soul never wanted to go.
I never told you that I’m not afraid of the height but I’m petrified of the fall.
I catch myself writing poems about you still,
But I promise, it was never love.
I’ve kept a running tally of things I think or say that might make you smile.
153.
I have no idea where to keep them.
I’ve said them to other people, but their smile isn’t the same.
It doesn’t have that narcissistic curl to it I used to crave.
I’ve also figured out that for every tally mark I have about 10 questions for you.
Most of them can be summarized in one word:
Why?
Why did you let me walk away when you loved me so?
Why did you never tell me how you felt?
Why did you act uninterested?
Why could you never look me in the eye?
And now, I stay up nights
Imagining possible conflicts,
A crime scene investigator of my own relationship.
And I’ve come to the conclusion,
That if one were to dust my heart for fingerprints,
They’d only find yours.
