just like old times

you know this is for you

this is going to be in a weird order but i hope you'll understand .

i stopped talking about you a while ago.
i was too afraid that if i said something too raw, my words would travel through the wind and get back to you.
too scared that somehow you would hear me.
it's been two months since i said your name out-loud, i miss it.

but, when i do speak of you, i allude to the idea that you're gone. that i'll never see you again. and that makes things better for me, in a way. makes me feel like it wasn't my fault that things got fucked up.

i talked about you to a friend once, directly, in october.
"i could never tell if she was being honest"
"oh?"
"but maybe that was me. it was so easy to fall in love with her, it felt almost like i was falling in love with myself."

you know me too well. better than i know myself, even. i truly do wish i was better, and i know that needs to be for myself but still can't help but want to live for other people.

there are some things that i can not do for you. i will never stop mourning the loss of us. whatever we had, it felt real, it's hard for me to feel real with people.

i wish i could tell the truth, and i'm really trying. being honest is so hard.
i can't, i couldn't tell if you were real with me, if i'm being honest. i saw so much me in you that sometimes i blurred the lines and forgot that words hurt people. that i can hurt people. so maybe i fucked up because i thought we were the same, i treat myself poorly, so i didn't understand that what i was doing was wrong. that's not an escape boat, that's not me finding a thing to blame. i'm the problem. i'm almost always the problem.

i wish i could remember what i said on that
voicemail. i cant remember a lot of things from that month i was in there but i really dont care.

he is yours to talk about. all of that is you. i will never and would never talk about what we had in confidence.

recently i've been finding myself rereading my suicide note to my father, and the one to you. the only people i wrote one for. and with that,
i might kill myself. do not mourn me. do not write about me. talk to the daisies. i'll be listening.

sleep well, liebe.

i hope we'll both be here for next time.