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….I was pretty sure he was only in love with the idea of me…
Imaginarily
I asked him to love me “imaginarily”
and he did.
And every time we played house, I was always the one he was supposed to be with.
I was always the one he loved.
Even if it was imaginary.
I Used To
I used to.
I used to do it all the time.
Sometimes,
just to hide the pain of the pressure forming behind my eyes I’d relent, and give in to the pressure of the weight of his body on mine.
Sometimes,
I’d give in just to feel the exhale of his breath on my skin validate my loneliness.
My arms were not big enough to hold myself.
They could only stretch so far.
I avoided mirrors.
I was ashamed of myself without him.
I was disappointed with myself after him… but he never knew.
He was never supposed to.
That wasn’t what we were. It was never what we were supposed to be.
In the end,
The pain behind my eyes became unbearable anyways.
It was the mirrors that made me cry.
It used to.
It still does.
