Today I saw you. You looked happy. I wonder how that feels.
Yesterday I was advised to go back to therapy. That my depression had come back in a rage, full force. It didnt feel like the same depression as before.
A week ago my tears aided my sleep almost as much as the god knows how many Nyquil. The only thing worse than crying for an unrequited love is also having to hide it.
A year ago I was happy. A year ago I realized how beautiful all those teenage cliches were. Flowers, movies, holding hands, arms intertwined on couches. I loved him without knowing I loved him. When he told me he loved me. My lips didnt move except to form some semblance of return that I thought I didn't feel.
Its been a year. A year. And if that's not an awful twist on delayed reaction I don't know what is. My tears elicit no sympathy and my sadness has no cure. My only cure is him and he's doing worse than hating me, he's ignoring me. Like nothing happened between us. Like I was nothing.
I still can't accept it. However logical it is that he clearly wants to see me as something that doesn't exist I still think there's a chance. And until I hear the words from his mouth alone, until I have that closure. I'll be destroying myself.
YOU ARE READING
Revelations
PoetryIt was really me. It was really you. There was really nothing we could do. To put it concisely, these are short, philosophical situations, feelings, and thoughts of different persons and personalities I've encountered.
