[a/n: every time i reread this it becomes more and more idiotic in my mind but it's almost 3 a.m. so fuck it.]
now you're not much more to me than a bundle of emotions i wish i could erase. . .
but i'm just not like you.
i can't pretend that you reducing me to mere pencil shavings didn't destroy what little worth i saw in myself,
that i was numb to the sharpener that scraped away at the tenderest layers of my heart with that fucking razor blade.
so now i know better than to let my guard down because
i didn't know forever had an expiration date when i said i'd love you until then.
i can't pretend i didn't care when i was brushed into a waste bin with ease because
who would ever think twice to throw away trash?
except i thought there was much more value to our memories,
perhaps i overestimated.
i can't pretend i wasn't waiting for a hesitation,
to be picked up from where i had fallen,
as if my discarding was accidental.
of course it wasn't, of course i knew this.
somehow the wounds still bled each time they reopened with rejection,
i've never learned from my mistakes.
now you're the same person in my memory but shifted in my vision
i'm just not like you
i can't pretend. . . except you're not pretending
you're truly indifferent.
