I’m tired, honey. You complain that I’m distant. Have you forgotten the miles?
Four years of loving you so much I forgot how it felt not to. Sometimes it felt like I was writing love letters to a wall, or whispering sweet nothings to an unproven deity. Maybe you were a false idol – eventually I’d realise there was nothing to worship. That the only power you had was to take everything we had and undo it all with your tongue.
You only miss the rain when it doesn’t come. The sun when all you see are clouds.
You say I don’t call. I’m not the one who keeps his phone off most of the time.
You say I seem preoccupied on IM. I’m not the one who’s almost never on.
You say you reply my emails. Yes, weeks after I send them.
Now that I’ve drawn back, you’re all ImissyouIloveyouwhereareyouareyouathome?
Well, you really shouldn’t have made me cry so hard I lost my voice; it felt like I’d swallowed the splinters from the heart you broke.
And every time you tell me you love me, I can still feel the pieces in my throat. Why tell me now, instead of when it could have helped, when it could have mattered?
I guess maybe you’ll have to learn the hard way that you shouldn’t break what you can’t fix.