by Poetically Yours, Chesca
All this time, I thought I was over it. I thought faking the belief that I did not care would finally influence the reality that I am actually still not over it, and that I still do care.
I still. Do. Care.
For even the gentle breezes bring me so much pain as they blow me all throughout the day eventually creating a tornado in my head of all the thoughts of you and I. And no matter how hard I worked to build a shelter above my head, you still manage to sweep the roof away– breaking the entire infrastructure down.
I cannot dismiss the fact that I still. Do. Care.
There is no denying that there are still pieces of you that live in the corner of my mind. If the things I tell myself are true, I would not be sitting here writing about a love that I was not even sure precisely existed. If the things I tell myself are true, then black and white evidences of my deepest thoughts would have never been exposed on paper.
Why can’t I push you away?
Please, I no longer want you to stay.