"I miss you."
No you don't. You miss the idea of me.
"I loved you."
No you didn't. You loved the memories.
But you lie to yourself. You always do.
And I tell myself I never loved you.
I tell myself, "it's over now."
It never is.
But you didn't know any better.
You didn't know that you could play this game.
You didn't know you could play with love.
And I didn't know you could play with my heart.
But I kept going.
Why not?
It started out little.
It seemed like nothing much.
Until it became enough.
And then it was too much.
Lies, I told myself.
I told myself you missed me.
I told myself you loved me.
And I told myself you never lied.
YOU ARE READING
I'm Not Sad Anymore
PoetryThis book of poetry describes the causes of a heartbreak one sentence at a time, the story leading up to it, with no intention of description. No need for the whole story. No need to point fingers, nor to point blame. Just words, that will possibly...
