Dear K,
I hate you. I hate you not because of who you are, but because of what you make me feel.
You make my heart hurt in ways I never thought it could.
I feel this deep, heavy pain in the middle of my chest like there’s an anchor where my heart should be.
I’ve never wanted to love someone as much as I wanted to love you.
You were like a warm breeze on a hot day.
A tad uncomfortable, but still refreshing.
Although we’ve never even shared a kiss when people ask me about my first love you’re always the first image that dances into my mind.
Your big, blue eyes that make me tremble with just a glance.
Your smile that is so bright I can see my future in it.
Your lips that I want so badly pressed against any part of my skin,
searing me like fire.
Your hands, that are big enough to hold the world, but somehow still manage to fumble my heart.
All these thoughts of you come to my mind when I think about love.
And it saddens me to think that someone I think so highly of doesn’t even take the time to wish me a happy birthday.
This year I didn’t wish you a happy birthday and I’m not sure what’s worse; you not noticing or the deep pull I had within me that so badly and desperately wanted to do so.
See, the problem is that I put so much of my time into molding myself into your “dream girl” that I forgot to mold myself into the woman I wanted to be.
I STILL lay awake some nights and think about what we could have been if I were only a few pounds lighter or if my skin tone was the color you wanted it to be.
But this poem isn’t for you…
It’s for me because I am sick and tired of being strangled by the ghost of your memory.
I’m tired of torturing myself with the words that you never said to me but I wanted so badly to hear.
This is goodbye.