I still wake up sometimes and feel your phantom warmth. Your phantom touch, your love, your breath. I can still hear you humming in the kitchen making tea. Still smell your citric perfume. There’s still the paint stains on the carpet from the tree you painted on the wall.
I still read our texts as I go to bed, hoping for the three little dots to pop up, hoping that you’ll say you were wrong. But I know you won’t. We still talk, but now we’re just friends again. Your parents never liked me to begin with, tattoos on my arms, piercings, constantly dying my hair. They thought I wasn’t good enough, which let’s be honest, was true.
We still talk about life, our dreams, everything. But I can’t be just a friend anymore. Not when I already know you more than a friend should. Not when I’ve kissed you. Not when I held you through your parents divorce. Not when I watched you cry every night because of your parents fighting. Not when I loved you. I know I can’t do it, not if I want to stay sane, not if I want my heart to heal.
I know I need to cut you out of my life, but I don’t want to. I don’t know if I could survive losing you, but I know I also can’t live, not like this. I can’t live hiding my heart and my feelings every day. Going back to friends never works, not once you know them more than you ever would otherwise.
ns216.73.216.33da2
and then Add to home screen.