i just wish this was enough for me to stop wanting you.

but i still do and i don’t know how to stop.

i wish i could understand why you did it.
but i don’t think i ever will.
why did you pretend to care for so long?
it was evident you didn’t, and still don’t.

i wish i could understand why i did it.
but i don’t think i ever will.
why did i let myself believe you for so long?
and; why does a a little part of me still believe

realistically i knew this would never work,
we would never work.
yet i let myself believe that what you said was true,
that you really were interested in me,
in pursuing a relationship with me.

but all of that blew up in my face, huh?

looking back on my poems i shouldve seen this coming.
i’ve been wary of you since the day we met.
i knew you were someone i could fall in love with,
and you knew i was someone who you never could.
yet you led me on and waited until we were finally alone, after months, to tell me what i already knew.
you don’t love me, you never did.
why am i so upset?

maybe one day i’ll show you the work you’ve inspired.

but not anytime soon.

i’m scared you’ll hate me for the way i see you

i haven’t been writing lately.
i’ve felt content with how things are, finally.
but after that night,
these poems are practically writing themselves.

why is it that i’m only inspired after you’ve hurt me?