bumblebees

A buzz, a buzz, a small short buzz—I lost the shirt you gave me, and I'm sadder than I thought.
I thought I would have more to say, as a girl in a plaid vest and sunglasses, when the weather calls for a much less tragic clash of clothes. If I could write without inhibition I would, but even so, writing calls for carefully placed letters and words, that terrify me—who's reading? I check often, and you're never there. A few small numbers, you're never there.

But what is to be expected? You don't fall out of love with someone within a week. Well, some people do. But I am not one of them. I slept early last night, around 9pm—the earliest I've slept since I was ten years old, and I woke up at 11pm with a frightening jolt. You had crept into my head again, stealing happiness away like a magician. I thought of you, and how you ___ and how you ____ and how you ____, and couldn't stop smiling/laughing/crying; sometimes I forget about you, and that almost scares me more than remembering you.

I am slowly picking up pieces (could I have used anymore hackneyed of a metaphor?) of what we once were, and seeing how broken they had been in the first place. I'm remembering every small grimace, and scoff, and frown you'd cast me, and then, all over again, feel that suffocating, heavy remorse that I always felt when I decided to let you back into my life.

The voices I heard tonight were meaningless and empty, despite curious questions and lingering eyes, I still miss the way you looked at me, although it may have been just as vacant as theirs. I still miss it, but am trying to miss it less and less. I've been writing songs about you "letting me set myself free" but it's really not about that. You never held me long enough for me to fight, I had always willingly wrapped my arms around you and held onto you in fear of being alone. Love...

I love(d) you.