If you knew the real me would you still love me?
If you saw the same thing I saw when I looked in the mirror would you hold me like you used to?
Would you be able to look into my eyes and look past all the tears to stare into my once full of life but now drained grey eyes?
I don't think so.
I think you've gotten used to it all.
Used to the fake me.
You wouldn't love me if you saw me now.
If you saw through the facade that was my smile.
If you saw me how you left me.
My eyes, once a bright promising blue now crumbled to reveal an inscrutable grey.
My cheeks lined with tear stains, dried from the cold, wispy air.
My chest pounding to the beat of my heart.
The exact same heart you ripped to shreds using your cold, ruthless ways.
Would you even be able to love yourself if you knew what you did?
If you knew how you caused each time I harmed myself.
Each time I cussed at myself after punching my wall so hard my knuckles fell numb.
If you only knew where I was right now, rocking back and forth on the cold tiled floors of my bathroom, my legs shaking, my throat raw from screaming and my hand, holding a picture of you, trying so deeply to remember where we went wrong.
Do you remember when you told me you loved me?
And I replied with the same gesture.
I remember the feeling of euphoria filling my veins.
It felt extraordinary.
Now I feel worthless, useless.
Forgotten.
What was once a happy, young and optimistic girl is now a lifeless shell of a child.
I wonder if you could touch me now?
Knowing I've been touched by another.
Knowing I've been broken.
How I would pay for you to look me in my sore eyes one last time.
But what's done is done.
You had to not care didn't you?
I loved you.
You just couldn't return the favor.
