I was scared that if I were to be myself, you would think of me differently,
And I think that's where everything went wrong.
I was thinking about you,
Like I didn't matter, and in those months, I guess I didn't.
Everything I'd ever done made me blue.
It made me blue because I only ever thought about you.
I only ever thought about whether you would be hurting and not thinking that I'd be flirting with this somber feeling if I held onto you any longer.
Because, sometimes, holding on hurts more than letting go.
And I held on for dear life,
Hoping to god that you wouldn't cut the tiny piece of thread that I was holding onto with the knife that you held in your hands.
Because I was hanging by a single thread,
And the rocks that I ending up landing on when you cut that thread yourself made me bleed, but my hands were already bruised and bleeding from holding onto your mislead hope, and my whole body ached from the strength I lacked and that hurt way more than the bruises and cuts all over my body from my fall.
Because holding on, hurts more than letting go.
Not sure if this even makes sense but I wrote it awhile ago and decided, why not post it.
