By Milian Miles
My heart will never allow my mind to wrap around the fact that you tore me apart, tossed me to the side and did not even flinch. Not once did you look back at the mess you had created.
I guess I was never really worth the time.
It was more convenient for you to forget that I existed.
Easier to shy away from holding my hand in public because they frowned on our type of love, ashamed that you were not like the rest. Afraid of what they would say, you chose to keep me a secret. Like an old tattered shoe hidden at the back of your closet.
True I remained afraid that I would never find another that captured my heart with such intensity.
‘Leave me not’ I begged.
Tears streamed down my face as I stood at that bust stop, I watched you speak of her with the same glint I had seen in your eye the very first time we met.
‘Give me time,’ you asked. Time to decide if I was worthy to be chosen by you.
And stripped of all my pride and dignity I waited. Waited like a rose in the fields to be picked, to be chosen. I guess my thorns pricked too hard because the day never came.
Years later, I still wait.
You would rather they never saw your true self than actually be true to yourself.
At my expense.
I guess I was a price you deemed fit to pay. Torn, shattered and discarded my pieces were no longer good enough for you. A memory of myself I am no more than a shell of what I use to be.
Can’t you be my nightingale?
Just once I hoped you would look into my eyes and see the pain that you had left, hold me in your arms and make it all go away. Kiss my forehead and wrap your arms around me because you know in your arms my world is right again.
Sing to me and be my sanity, bring me peace.
But God forbid they should know you loved a creature such as I.
An empty casing, devoid of the joy that once held my heart captive, when you walked out you left with it. Trekking blood as you walked you left me hollow and empty.
Don’t come back I beseech you.
I do not think I can recover from another you. This far you have broken me, let me be. Let me cry and pick up the pieces the only way I know how to. And if you should ever find me lying face down in the streets, bruised and broken, walk on by and leave me be.
Do that which you do so well.
Submit your writing, photos or anything else to HOLAA! email: firstname.lastname@example.org
*leave a comment on the post, you can write it under a different name and your email will not be published.*