Left On Read

Left on read


It hurts.

It’s silly, but it does,

There was nothing ever there, nothing ever lost,

Just a bridge built halfway, and only time was the cost,

And now I sit alone, as I always was,

Nothing changed, yet pain remained, as my soul degrades,

“You’re being ridiculous”, I tell myself, “This will get you nowhere”,

It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t mine, it just wasn’t meant to be,

And yet still I sit here, feeling pain all the same, letting my life slip away as fail to keep the dreams at bay,

I’m writing poetry for the first time over a decade, like I’m some 14 -year- old goth kid, crying because she didn’t feel the same way!

“It’s ridiculous!” I tell myself, again, even louder, “You’re still alive, your heart still beats, its not like all is lost!”,

This isn’t like me, I don’t do this, I’m not the somber type,

I usually just laugh, and continue through the strife,

I’m privileged, I know that very well. I have friends, family, a roof over my head, and that’s more than most can say,

Yet I’m still writing this poem, with stupid tears in my stupid eyes, not moving on as I’m unable to even try,

I should take some time, practice self care, that’s what they all preach,

But I can’t, but I’m not, but I don’t.

Then I realise that, for a long time, before I even met her,

There was a hole in me, that I couldn’t fill myself.

Did I just want validation? Did I just want to feel better?

I loved her, I did. But I didn’t love myself,

This entire thing was one-sided, unrequited, and the hole remains.