meranda.

You think you’ve seen her naked because she took her clothes off? Tell me about her dreams. Tell me what breaks her heart. What is she passionate about, and what makes her cry? Tell me about her childhood. Better yet, tell me one story about her that you’re not in.  

You’ve seen her skin, and you’ve touched her body. But you still know as much about her as a book you once found, but never got around to opening.

And after they’ve hurt you, after they’ve torn your veins out with your heart and your fast beating lungs they’ll demand a decision out of you. They’ll say something like- baby, oh god, please don’t go. Don’t go, I’m so sorry, tell me you’ll stay.

Like even though they hurt you, even though they’re the ones that created that ache that feels like a crater pressing into your chest it’s you that has to make the final cut. And you’ll think it’s not fair because youre in love you’re in love even though it all feels like a mistake but you still want to tell them that it’s okay. But it’s not, it’s not a choice it’s not your choice it was their decision to rip you to pieces and now you’re down a no exit street that you would never have chosen.

You never wanted to live in a future without them and suddenly they’ve left you so iron clad in chains of hurt that you can’t break free, and you’ve got something that sounds so much like forgiveness on the tip of your tongue but you’ve got every reason in your brain screaming at you to run. So you leave, but you can’t help but look back every time you cross the street.