I have in my mind the utterly bewildering list of things I could have done differently
A list of words I could have chosen over the ones I chose
A list of breaths I should have taken before speaking
A list of things that I would still say I loved about him if he let me
But he’s got his list too that reads mostly like mine, full of things I did and didn’t do, of done and undone things a collection of offenses and wrongs that I ¬†doled upon him that not even the blood erupted from pores could atone for
and I have been sentenced and I have been judged as less than whatever it was he thought I was and less than whatever he thinks is worth sticking around for
Its hard to try and realize that the trying was never going to be good enough
Its hard to realize that the love that kept you going within those cold December mornings– the love that took the sting out of the gray idea of getting old–the love you thought you could live on–Never really existed and never went as deep as you thought it did and never originated from anything more than man’s fleeting impulse
And I beg to my god, I get it. Lets be done. I beg to be unstuck from the thing that keeps sticking
To be unstuck from all of the being misunderstood
How can it be that the one you held as an angel, that you tenderly cradled and tended and cared for
Took all of the tender cradling and looked at all of the tending and saw all of the caring as nothing more than a crued exageration
And the list and the done and undone things weigh more now than any of the heaven sent stuff you tried to share
Because you weren’t heaven sent you were just a person with hopes and fears and pains that come with the unfortunate state being real

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