Ruthless.

"Hey, remember when everything was new

and you made me nervous and you

couldn't get enough of me and

we wrote each other essays in text messages

and we'd stay up nights to greet mornings together?

You said I made you happy, and we laughed a lot,

we had so much possibility and promise,

and I was actually interesting and talked about

something other than how fucked up we are now.

We kissed a lot and made up words

and I knew for a fact you wanted me there.

I just need to know that it was all real.

Feelings are so strange and volatile.

How could it be real if it could all end so carelessly,

and could we ever be that way again?"

*

Everything I've written here,

it could all be meaningless and hollow.
It could all mean... white lies in conversations

and faking the way you hold me.

I don't want to cry about this anymore.
I won't lose sight on what's real, what I've felt,

everything you are.