Moving On, Always Waiting
I think I'll always be waiting somehow.
Waiting for what?
Anything at all.
For me, there was too much there to just toss over my shoulder.
I can't not look back at the beauty we created.
I can't walk away from the hopes that we gave breath to, but I can stay at this distance.
I have to.
I risk way too much every time I fall back to you.
I always put way too much of myself into it, despite the fact that I know you'll stay closed up and the effort won't be returned.
I can find someone better; more caring, honest, real, ready to love.
I can stop waiting.
I choose not to.
I see your beauty and it kills me that you're blind to mine.
You see only the lesser beauty, the oustide beauty.
That's not enough for me to feel important, special, wanted.
But it's enough for me to have hope that sometime you'll see behind all that.
I'm so mad at you, at myself, for letting this happen again.
You should have kept your word and I should have known better.
I've spent eight months hoping I would be good enough the next day.
Skinny enough, funny or pretty enough, perfect enough for you.
The longer I stuck around the more I realized just how shallow and pathetic you are.
I was under such a terrible impression and I allowed myself to be blinded for so long.
You aren't worth my time.
You don't deserve my waiting, my everything, my love.
You've done absolutely nothing to earn any of me.
Your words would reach out and caress me like a heaven, then your actions would follow behind and split me open with fiery licks.
I'll accept your silence, again.
I'll cry some more, hurt and bleed some more, lose a little more of myself.
I'll find another, make a life with him.
But I won't forget.
And I know that I'll come back stronger than I was before you.