And I held on to what was the better of the time we spent together, and then I held on longer. Here I am, at the age, that when I was a child, I thought I’d have my shit together. And here I am, at that age, thrown into a life I have no idea how to run. As things seem to unravel at the seams, and I have to cling to what little hope I have for ever digging myself out of the ill illusions of where I should be, verses where I am, I hold on a little tighter to you. Maybe you left because I couldn’t give enough, or maybe you left because I couldn’t unlock doors for you. Or perhaps you just left because what was left of me wasn’t enough. I’m holding out, but coming up empty handed.

I’m not what I used to be. I lost myself, when I became all the different people you asked me to be. I now know why I was the one worth leaving. When you chisel enough off, there’s not much left to give. And I gave you all the falling pieces of me.

And how could I not have heard this train coming, when I held my ear to the tracks all along? How did I not see the lights coming, before I, myself, became this train-wreck?

I can’t say I blame you much.


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