We, maybe?
Losing you wasn’t really losing at all, since I had myself lost through the process. I was looking back when I watched you leave quietly; but every time, I had to watch myself question if leaving would ever even be worth it or not. And maybe it was.
Maybe it was worth something because it gave me my worth back.
You know, one thing I realized is that the love I gave was always my own, and it was and never will be my responsibility to see what you do with it. It was never my responsibility to prove its worth to you. At the end of the day it meant something. To me.
Everything that happened really says a lot about us as people. Who we are and to what extents we are willing to go to for the person we say we love. Maybe love meant something else to you. Maybe you loved in different ways. Maybe you feel the same way I do now. Or maybe you just love in theory.
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But what must a piece of paper do with a matchstick?
You were waiting to be lit, dealing with your own fire. I was waiting to be written on, thinking everything through. Your fire left me with no words of my own. In the end, I was destined to be ash.
There are a lot of things that may have been. You could have had lesser anger, I could have been louder. You could have given me some more respect, I could have been clearer.
We could have been forever.
And yet, here we are, with parted ways, undiscussed feelings, unavoidable regrets, and a lot of love with nowhere to go.
