I know your there.
I've been looking for you though memories of another pair of eyes.
Knowing what I hear and see are not my own.
Should I really question if this is a real good bye?
Should I really question you leaving me because of your Mom, and how you left me alone?
But that's the thing, Right? It goes both ways I'd say.
Its my fault I had to go, and doing so gave your Mom the opportunity to Bash you for the things She never had almost every night.
I feel bad for her, because I knew what that pain feels like at the end of the day.
I would walk to your house back then to hear her yelling at you guys.
I had troubles looking into your eye's Some days knowing how good you could be at hiding your pain She caused.
I wondering things like: If I huged you harder or kissed you longer or held you longer and so on you'd still be with me.
Sometimes, I'd watch you walk from friend to friend with different intentions on your mind.
Sometimes, I'd try to tell you about things because I wanted to let you in only to worry you more.
I feel alot of things but since then I've never felt so blind.
The thing that hurts the most is that you said you don't love me anymore.
I really thought you were the one.
To be honest,I was giving up everything for you ,but you never knew.
I was walking away from the people I never really knew.
To be honest, I knew you wouldn't do the same or to expect such a big amount out of you.
I never complained because I knew what that pain really was.
Another thing that hurts alot is; I never was ENOUGH for you.
I don't think the same way about you anymore.
I get angry at myself most times, because it should have never happened this way.
I can't even imagine what it did to you, bleeding inside and emotionally sore.
I used to call you My Moon, My Queen, My Everything.
But now, I'm reminded of you every time I go for a walk because I couldn't sleep.
The thoughts of you cut and burn me so deep!!!
I knew in the beginning if this were to happen to be as careful next time.
I'm willing to bet the same thing for You.
