You were the one of us who said it was over.
You were the one of us who was done.
My dear, It was not I that left you,
But ‘twas you who’d left your only one.
And now, as we pay the price,
We die in and outside
Of ourselves, and dwell on what we were.
Depression eats us alive
Even though we still thrive
To live, to try
To laugh, To cry.
We wear our masks as we
Continue to ignore and continue to be
Without each other in the other’s life.
And this, my dear, is your fault, not mine.
Through each passing day,
You are the only one passing my brain.
I wonder about you, and hope you’re okay.
I know your pain.
I feel your pain.
It’s an all-too-familiar pain.
I still love you, I always will.
I was your everything, and you are mine, still.
I still only hear your voice echoing.
Sometimes, I think it’s you, past me, going.
I’ve almost called you once or twice.
Maybe even thrice?
But, knowing how the conversation would flow,
I’ve told my self multiple times, to just say no.
If you still love me, you’ll return.
If you really love me, the past we’ll burn.
If you truly love me, you will prove.
And it will be me that you love.