Everything reminds me of you.
I can’t stand it. You drive me crazy.
One minute, I’m fine, then the next, I’m a mess.
Everything hurts at this point. It’s just another ugly bruise you’ve left behind.
One part of me wants you back and the other just wants to forget you were even mine.
If I was overloading you with words, I ask that you contemplate why.
Why would someone like me let anxiety drive my actions?
Why would she let fear make her babble like a fool?
Ponder exactly why I do the things that I do.
I told myself maybe.
Maybe if I gave you the support I secretly wanted, you’d return the favor.
Maybe if I message you daily, it would help you feel less alone than I felt.
Maybe if you listened to my reasoning, you’d give me another chance.
But I know how irritating--annoying even--my pestering gets.
If you’d only listen and talk to me. . .maybe I wouldn’t be such a mess
But you’ve decided to cut me off, which is what you do best.