You are the perfect imbalance, the curve in my spine.
And these cuts may not bleed, but they run deeper than any of the other ones that do. So we’ll chalk it up to being young and naive. And I’ll go on, and we’ll become strangers. And I’ll remember you in faint memories that take the longest to forget, and the longest to remember. And when I think of failure, I’ll think of you. Because I said everything that I could have possibly said to you, used every meaningful word I’ve ever known, molded every sentence properly and punctuated when needed, and wrote the deepest, fully awakened letter, and it never made a damned difference. The words are just hollowed to the core. Insignificant when you don’t have a definition. Because you bowed out before I could define them. So no, I have nothing left to say, as there is nothing left to fight for. You no longer exist.
You’ll fade a little more, everyday. I’ll stop justifying your actions, your shifty eyes, short comings, and even shorter conversations. Eventually you’ll change again, but not in any of the ways you need to. And the day will come where you regret your past decisions and for the thousandth time, you’ll pull the glue apart, before it can dry. I will unravel and every step I took away from you, will disappear, like sand under the tide. And as I unravel, I’ll fully fall apart, all over again.