I just keep looking for you.
I know you aren’t looking back.
And it makes me feel so stupid.
Looking for you as if you can bring me joy when you made me like this.
You made it end.
But no, even before that you made it start.
I wish it didn’t even start.
If I’d known it would end so sour I wouldn’t have let it begin.
You’re fine though.
You’re fine and I’m a mess and I just have to get used to that now.
Poetry
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You’re good at getting a feeling across quickly in your writing. “If I’d known it would end so sour I wouldn’t have let it begun” is a bit of hindsight that it feels like everyone can relate to. Wounds heal, but sometimes you just wish that you’d been able to know then what you know now.