Imagine asking someone “Would you love me in December the way you love me in May?” and the answer keeps coming back as yes.

You feel the fear of losing in that question?

I knew you wouldn’t love me. Or maybe even the fact that you never did.

The illusion of us was beautiful though. And I spent a lifetime during my 90 days in heaven before you tore it all up. And left that version of us to rot. With me.
Left me to live with memories of us “in love”. Only to come back in newer colours.
And you have no idea how you’re breaking me now because you’re oblivious to my grays still.

I see you try in love with someone new. You say you are getting your karma back now? And I see you happy in love.
Oh I don’t mind that. At all. I want you to be happy. And in love. Even if it’s not with me.
But no karma isn’t getting you right now. At least not in the way you treated me. Because you have no idea what I’m living with and how I’m breathing in bits.

I wish you tried. For me. Oh! I would have given you the world.
I would have fought the world for you. I would have been a shield, like I already was, in your absence too. I would have held your hand through the storm to brighter days.
Oh the way I would have loved you.
But instead I heard you say “you deserve a lot better than me. Someone who will love you the way you should be loved.”
And that broke me. Into a million pieces. Because I thought I finally found it. My missing puzzle piece.

You are someone else’s now and I’m still trying to find ways to not live my life in half breaths.

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You ask me how you can make things better for me and I want to say “you can never because you’re the one who’s hurting me” but all I say is “it’s not for you to heal”

And you know. You know that you’re hurting me. You know that holding me back with you now is tearing me apart. But you still don’t let go.
And I resent you for that. I regret you, for that. While it’s not for you to heal- it’s for you to make sure it stops hurting.
And I know. Oh God, I know you don’t love me. Not in the way I do. But you don’t let me go either.

You hold on a little longer. And then a little more. And now your hands are like a rope cutting into my skin. The friction is making me bleed more and more. Profusely now. And you still don’t see the red.

When will you see me bleed out? From the bullets you shot? From the injuries you inflicted? One by one. With the utmost care. When I’m on the ground? Gasping for breath?
Will you see me then? Will you come running and sit at my feet as I am on my last breath? Will you say that you’re sorry then? Sorry for breaking me? For killing the lover I had in me?Will you look at me and know that you are the reason behind my demise? Or will you still be ignorant?

Will you try and love me then? Will you love me next May, the way you don’t love me this December?