Somehow all I can write about is you. I try to find inspiration elsewhere but each time the page before me fills with words and memories about you. You, the person who broke my heart. You, the one person who was supposed to love me but whose definition of love included abuse and games. All I want to do is forget, but as I write at 12:16 am on a random Thursday morning, it is you who consumes my thoughts. It is you who makes me hate myself and it is you who stirs and extinguishes the fire inside me.
YOU ARE READING
With Love
PoetryLetters, poems, and other short stories about life, love, being hurt, and basically everything that runs through my (awkward) teenage mind.
