Lie to Me

I could have been good for you, if you had let me.  In a different world, a different time, maybe a different set of circumstances.  I could have been what you needed.  Wanted, even.  We could have been happy.  Content in our lives, enjoying each other’s company.  I know we could have been good for each other.

But somehow I wasn’t good enough for you, in ways I’m sure I will never be told.  Rather than be honest with me, you chose to cut me out of your life at the drop of a hat, leaving me forever wondering what grave error I committed to deserve such treatment.  You didn’t have the decency to tell me a damn thing, and somehow I feel like that’s my fault.  Like I didn’t deserve the truth in the first place.

 

So now I can’t help but feel like everything about me was insufficient for you, like I could never live up to the expectations you didn’t bother expressing to me.  I fear that I will carry this with my forever, that I will never escape you. 

I can’t even tell my friends why I look miserable, on the verge of tears, incapable of anything but a half-hearted smile, because I had kept you all to myself.  I wanted to hold our memories tight, to treasure them, and sharing them seemed to undermine that.  I wanted you just for me.  My fault for expecting the same, I suppose.

I would’ve settled for less than the truth, if it meant that you would’ve talked to me one last time.  Don’t you see how twisted that is?  I wanted you so badly, I would’ve preferred that you lie to me.  Why couldn’t you lie to me?