I wish I’d looked at you. It feels like it
wasn’t real now because some part of my psyche just kept skipping over your presence
for my own sanity. Looking at you would have been the hardest thing to do and I
am a coward. If I looked at you I would have had to confront how I feel and
make a decision. I want to be strong and say I would have stabbed you with a
fork, that I would have presented you with every godawful thing I know about
you now like a bullet, that I would have hurt you with everything that hurt me.
But the truth is I miss you. Looking at you
would make me see you. You are the one person that made me feel so in love. Your
face that could make me feel so connected to the world. You made me feel like I
wasn’t crazy, like I was worth everything
and anything.
Sometimes I catch myself doing things that
you do. Like that smile where your mouth goes so wide and you crinkle your eyes
to slits so that no one realises that the smile doesn’t reach there. Was I the
only one who saw right through it or did you know all long that it is a
backhanded cry for help?
I wish I’d looked at you. I miss your face
so much. And after everything it hurts me that you could be staying awake fixated
on how I ignored you tonight. That you could feel hurt by that.
The truth is that you probably ignored me
too. You probably didn’t even process my existence either. Every value I place
upon you is a value I allowed myself to believe you placed upon me. It all came
from how much faith and respect I had for you. I wanted to be worthy enough for
you to feel the same way for me. But you don’t. It killed me when I made myself
accept who you are.
I could pretend I don’t hate you but I do. I
want to claw past your skin and rip every organ out of your body.
I wish I’d looked at you. I wish I’d been
brave enough, for my own sake.
