Left over

Days you liked me, you wrote my last name after yours on the styrofoam boxes of your leftovers.
I stopped knowing how often to expect those days.
There’s a hole somewhere in your heart and my “I love you” doesn’t fill it anymore, it only makes it sore.
Not a day went by that I was’t willing to open myself up for you.
I chose not once, but endlessly, to rest my head next to yours
And to carry your burdens
And to beach on your shores.
I let you touch my future.
We both let each other paint the walls of future homes,
Name little living things we would someday love,
Make plans and plans and keep on getting up
even as falling asleep started to be synonymous with the break down.
I didn’t see you coming with your changed heart and made up mind.
I didn’t see you coming gentle, without rage,
delicately,
as if to say…
This time, I’m sure.
It will hurt
so much less
this way.
Ashley Wylde
July 15th, 2015

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