I said goodbye,
wishing it was for real,
that it’s really what I feel like;
not just a sudden burst of anger –
something all but whimsical.
Absurd, for I try my hardest
to abhor and hate you,
nonetheless, it’s futile;
for my heart is yours –
your possession and not mine.
It’s unfair, I can’t take it;
for every time I take a step backwards,
I always end up three steps towards you.
In front of you, though you barely see me,
though you barely know I’m there.
And it’s murdering me,
to feel that you’re a breath away,
a kiss, a smile, a touch nearby,
knowing that you’re around,
knowing it’s me you couldn’t find.
Thus I said goodbye,
rather than waste away,
not that I won’t without you.
But it’s a whole lot better
to waste away on my own.
For to feel that you’re there when you’re not is poison;
death is loving you when you can’t love me back.