Please don't tell her about me because if you do, I'll never be just yours.
When she finds my shirt in the bottom drawer of your dresser, don't tell her it's mine. Don't tell her why you kept it and surely don't tell her it was my favorite.
Let her wear my favorite sweatshirt of yours, but don't mention where the chocolate stain came from. Or the smell of flowers from my perfume. Don't explain to her why you haven't washed it.
Don't tell her about me. If she asks about me, don't say a word. Quickly say "she's no one," and then change the subject.
If your relationship history comes up, don't tell her how long we dated. Don't tell her when we broke up. You can tell her about your other two ex-girlfriends and let her call them by name, but please don't ever let my name roll off her lips.
Don't talk about me. Because you can't. Because it hurts too much. Because you want to keep me, us safe. Even if you never loved me at all, don't talk about me because you have at least that much respect for me.
When the radio plays my favorite song, you know that one that always spoke to me, don't tell her why you know all the words. Better yet, don't even sing along. Change the station.
Put on the hat I gave you. Or the shirt. You can leave the jersey hanging in your closet, unworn because it's just too close to home, but don't tell her I bought any of them for you. Don't tell her that the white spot on your bathmat (the one I gave you) is from that time I spilled bleach when I was trying to do the girlfriend thing and clean. I took the color out of it like you took the color out of me.
If it rains and you give her your umbrella, don't tell her it came from me. Don't tell her I left you with cover from the rain and you left me with nothing for when the bottom fell out on me.
Don't tell her about the future we planned – the kids we named and dogs we purchased.
Don't take her to our spot. Don't play her the CDs I made you. Don't dance in the rain with her, and please whatever you do, don't talk sports with her.
Don't tell her about me. I don't want her to know.
YOU ARE READING
I Want You to Know
PoesíaThis is how. How we got together. How we lasted. How we faded. How we broke up. How he left me. How I hated him. How I loved him. How I moved on. Raw with emotion, this collection of poetry contains the unfiltered truth of what a girl thinks of a...
