I’m writing about you again.

I guess I’m hoping that if I keep writing your name it’ll lose its meaning.

Maybe I just want to remember the pleasant memories

without thinking about how you make me feel.

The way you make me feel that I can’t even trust my own judgement.

Like maybe my judgement is what led me to being hurt by you in the first place.

In the first place I don’t even remember when your name stopped being a song.

When your song started to play everything I’ll never be.

The way that your glance made me want to be on a different Earth.

An Earth where I didn’t have to protect myself from your line of judgement.

It scares me that even now I have to protect myself from you.

So much so that I’ve hardly made a friend in three years.

So much so That I have to worry that if I do make friends again they’ll be like you.

The way you made me feel like I had to live in a box.

A place where I could never change my mind or disagree.

I just. I want to be free of you.

The way you were a noose on my throat.

The constricting way I had to follow your lead.

Like it was my only option.

The way I don’t know how to lead myself.

The way I hardly even know who I am.

Is it wrong that I hope you regret what you did to me?

To us. Sometimes I just want you to say you’re sorry.

Maybe out of revenge.

I just want to reject you.

The same way you rejected me with every hurtful comment.

Perhaps I just want to write you out of existence.

Like maybe after the five billionth I won’t want avoid people with the same name as you.

Because your name is still a trigger warning half a mile long.

To be honest, I don’t want to write about you anymore,

but at this point, I’m not sure who else I should write about.

Am I supposed to write about my love or maybe the dog?

What is that like?

To write about something that doesn’t make me scream

to to that hell, you seem to think I belong in.

Where do I belong?

To what part of me do you belong?

I’m writing about you again and I hope that one day.

One day I won’t have to.