If You Knew

Dear...what do I call you?
The feel of your name rolling off my tongue
leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
And when the sound hits my ears, the tears form in my eyes.

That's how bad this is; that's how deep this thing goes.

So what do I call you?

You're neither friend nor lover.

And I'm a fool for ever believing you were.

It's time I stop playing nice around you,

I don't want to be calm anymore.

Call it rambling if you will, but I'm finally letting loose.

Do you even realize what you did?

Maybe it was nothing to you, but it was everything to me.

It still is.

Do you know that I sat by the phone waiting for your call?

Do you know that I blew off my friends, my family, my team, all for you?

I was the girl I said I never would be. Do you know that?

Do you know how angry, how blindingly angry I am for everything you did and everything I did for you?!

Yet I'm incapable of holding onto that.

No, more often than not, I blame myself instead of you.

Because you said it was my fault, so it has to be, right?

But I'm sick of taking it all, because you were there, too.

Maybe I was pathetic and stupid and should have known better,

but you still said what you said and did what you did, and I refuse to pretend you're innocent here.

God, did you hurt me.

I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone, not even you.

You messed me up so badly. There are days I can't think, can't breathe.

I spent so long pretending I wasn't hurt, or forcing myself to feel numb,

that I don't even know how to be real anymore.

Your words still echo in my head.

Every single time I start to write something, I can hear your "helpful criticism"

so helpful that I watched myself bleed because it hurt less than what you said,

thank you.

You didn't know that, did you?

Now you do, are you happy? Are you proud?

There are so many things I want you to know.

Maybe then you'd understand what you did.

But I know I'm writing letters that I will never send;

I'll admit it: I'm too afraid of what you would say if you knew.

So I'll keep them in my head, or burn them, or maybe lock them up.

Maybe someday you'll actually read them.

But truth be told? I pray this is my last goodbye to you...

And I will find a way to forget...