Wasted

 

And I see you look for pieces of me in every girl you meet.

This one might have my laugh, that one tells my jokes.

You search for crumbles of me.
You search for things that keep you grounded.

You live your life in resentment, thinking nobody will ever compare, and you’re right.

And when you spend all your energy being angry at everything, you slide back and let your tears slip in front of me.

And you see finality and pity in my eyes and you feel more anger mixed with shame.
But you let me hold you because you’re tired and weak.

You hold me tight, as I hold you loosely, and you curse yourself for getting yourself here in the first place.

You curse yourself for meeting me, for letting me get close to you, for opening up, for falling as hard as a human could possibly fall.

You kick yourself for thinking that I was as deeply in love as you were and for thinking that I’d care enough or forgive.

And I cry for you because I’ve always cared but never enough.

And I hold you tighter to make you feel safe.
I hold you tighter without thinking that it would give you hope.

So you leave that day with your chest a little lighter and eyes a little brighter.

And you dream of me that day, and the one after, and after a week.

And I live my life leaving believers, thinking they could one day be with their perceived version of me.

They spend their life crying over an idea.

Tragic.

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