Paintings are Permanent, but You Weren't

I still think about you

all the time.

To be honest it makes me feel

weak.

Knowing you did me wrong

and still wanting you

so bad.

You didn't wish me happy birthday

how childish of me to care about something as silly as a birthday wish but then again I care for you and you're no more than a child

You didn't even tell me you were in town,

my town.

One you made your mark on, painting your name across cement and the tongues of those in my home as if to never let me forget you

Paintings are permanent but you weren't.

I grew sick of hearing your name

and hearing it not from your lips

How could you not tell me?

How could you say all you said to me

to only say nothing

You invalidated me like the coward you pretend not to be.

and why go through all of that

to only go silent on me?

I felt so much for you

fast and all at once,

I couldn't believe I finally felt that way about someone, for once.

Maybe it wasn't a relationship to you,

but it sure was to me

And if it wasn't for you

then what the fuck was it?

What were you getting out of it

I never even touched you

I used to dream about touching you

and sometimes, I still do.

Fuck you.

You were my longest and shortest relationship,

my best and my worst,

maybe that speaks to my experience,

to my heart, or my hope

But I find myself questioning

What did I think about before you?

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