I find it childish-
The ease with which you walk away.
I find it spineless-
The way you’d rather run but won’t confront.
I find it hurtful-
The resolve with which you refuse to talk to me again.
I think, you find it easy.
You seek companionship while you live detached.
I can’t help but admire it sometimes.
I want to walk out too.
My morbid mind dreams of dramatic escapes!
I want to tear everything,
think of you being hurt,
and bang the door shut.
Cry out how you were not the one for me.
You are not the one for me.
I would still leave you a little note.
I’d worry that in your pain, you’ll forget.
So if I ever decided that I would never want to talk to you again,
I’d write to you,
Of our bubble-like bliss,
Of our wreck-like woes,
Of your calm disposition,
Of my nonchalant ways,
Of this goodbye.
I’d explain to you why.
Such an end would be easier to swallow.
Our memories would have a pleasant aftertaste.
You might hate me, but you would cherish us.
We were perfect and complete in a distant time.
I don’t mind that you want to leave.
I don’t even mind if it is gradual; and seemingly certain,
and I have only time and distance and our tedious lives
I don’t mind you leaving.
I mind that your will to leave
is more than your will to stay.