The best thing I could do is let go.
Banish you to some dark corner of my heart
where the light dares not shine.
Maybe then—for the first time in weeks—I could breathe again.
My blood would still run cold,
but at least my friends wouldn’t see
the black hole growing in my chest.
You’d probably even find peace
knowing I’m not waiting anymore,
knowing you don’t have to worry about me.
Sure, at first, it’s going to kill me—
turn every waking moment into a carnival of emotional turmoil.
But time has a way of dulling even the sharpest knives of memory.
For a few years, I’ll still be looking for you
at the bottom of every bottle I open,
knowing all that’s waiting for me
are the same sad songs
and old pictures.
My brain understands.
But it’s hard to listen
when my heart is still screaming.