I wish I could just forget you already. I wish other people would just forget you already. I'm ready. I know it's time.
I watched you leave, but at the time I thought you'd be back. It was before I knew it was goodbye for good. For the greater good. For the both of us. For the better.
Maybe I should have been better. But they said I shouldn't put this on myself. They said you should have treated me better -- you should have shown more interest, let me be the girl. Do your friends say this about me, to you, minus the girl part? Well, it doesn't matter.
Because now you are minus the girl part.
But that's not why you still keep me up at nights, sometimes. That's not why your face appears, behind my closed lids, while I try to let darkness wrap me up like woolen blankets, to soothe the day away. Because sometimes you are there too, in the day. But in the night, your face eats up the blackness of the night. Behind my lids. I wish I could just put a lid on the jar of you, store you in the back of the pantry. But I can't seem to figure out how. So your face appears, and even then you seem to wait for me to do something, instead of doing something yourself. What did I even want you to do? Nothing. It's easier this way.
But not really. You just hover there, looking at me. Last night you did this again. A gain -- that's also what they told me, before. They said you would be good for me, would help me gain something. What was it? Who cares. It didn't work, did it?
But it still hurts -- you were an almost. And almosts leave room for guessing, for imagining. And that is a killer.
Why are you here, another time, frozen in the shaky corners of my mind? Of this piece of my mind, this piece of me. Why am I afraid that one night the blackness of the dark behind my lids will soon eat you up instead? "Don't you forget about me..." Do I regret anything, despite what they said? Does it matter? No, not really. "Don't don't don't don't .... Don't you forget about me."
What's with this stupid song?
Anyway that's not why you keep me up some nights. It's because I never had the chance to love you. You never let me; I never let myself. Whatever. Same difference, right? No. So what. But even that isn't so important, isn't the real reason.
Honestly, I just love to lie to myself.
You didn't give me a chance to love you, but you gave me a chance for something else. You gave me a chance to love lying to myself even more.
Thanks for that.
