Now you see me. Now you don't.

Now You See Me.

I’m here.

I never left. But the thing is, you left me vulnerable. You left me unknown, unclear, and so confused. Basically, you left. You left me.

A week. Seemingly, that’s all it took. For you to forget me, to forget what you felt. You forgot what we went through. What you put me through, everything.

The thing is… I never intended to leave. But I feel as though I’m being forced out.

You say you need me. You say you’ll always need me. Because you love me.

Oh, the irony in a statement such as that. Two weeks ago, you were in love with me.

To know someone is in love with you, it makes you comfortable, it feels good. It makes you feel like you have a purpose, like you matter to someone. But to know that it took only a week. A week for you to give up on me. Little did you know what I felt. What I might have been beginning to feel. And to explain that, I can’t answer in a yes or no question. You gave up… on an “I don’t know.”

The funny thing is –

You don’t give up on love. You just force yourself not to want it. And if you really did love me, like you said you did… then.

It hurts.

After that week… we don’t talk like we used to. I’m not the first to know about the important things going on in your life anymore… like I was. Talking to you seems forced sometimes, even awkward. I miss the way things used to be. It was comfortable.

To have someone fall out of love with you… makes them seem like a whole different person.

I feel like I don’t know you.

You love someone else. You’re with someone else.

I should be happy for you. I force myself to be happy for you, because she gave you what I didn’t, what I couldn’t. Except I’m not.

I shouldn’t feel this way. But I do.

I definitely shouldn’t cry over this. But I am, and I have.

You wanna call it jealousy? Sure. Go ahead. I’m jealous. But what good is admitting that going to do. Nothing.

I spend all day hiding behind emotions. And I stay up all night thinking… and writing. Because the night’s the only time it’s quiet. The only time I can focus.

And as I hide behind the truth… of me… you… everybody… you see less and less of the real me. Eventually, you’ll feel the same way. Like I’ve changed. Like you don’t know me anymore.

And it’s because you don’t.

You go off of what you think you know about me. You think you know me. You think you really see me.

But guess what?

Now, you don’t.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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