People leave.
The special days become a painful reminder of who couldn’t stay,
And how I loved too much of someone who loved me too little,
And how my heart was too big to let another day slip by without it leaving a mark.
Because at some point I decided I’d rather carve the date on my skin than forget it.
I hollowed myself out with the days that meant more to me than to the people I shared them with.
And I haven’t been whole since.
These days my calendar looks like an open wound.