Perhaps the hardest, and sometimes worse, thing to realize is that it didn’t mean as much to me as you thought. How painful it is, to let some like me so utterly apathetic have so much power over you. How much joy for me it was, to watch someone once so strong crumbling at the chance of a goodbye.
And morals still weak, you love me. You want things.
Things you not dare mention.
Things of which you are ashamed. Me. but you found it in yourself
to struggle in the balance,
and you can’t figure what’s worse: Admitting you still care or that you just can’t look at me anymore.
But what did you expect?
You knew I was no good.
You knew I’d break your heart.
This is your fault.
Being mysterious and damaged drew you into me; so mysterious that falling in love with felt more like an adventure than a trap. But I’vebeen good, even as a little girl, at making the peoplearound mefeel loved before they’ve known the truth.
The same broken lover line I’ve told you time and time again,
has gone one a many to fall into my arms.
You let your desire to fix me out weigh your brain. I am notyour destroyed toy to fix.
But I will continue to make you hold onto the idea that it’s your fault. Remembering your weak heart and your strong conscience do not play well with others. But neither do I.
How long will you drag this on? Waiting for something that will never come. I am a ticking bombpushing people away to decrease the causalities.
But you, You are my causality. You are my tragedy. But you are not art.