I am a harpist

And I want you to be happy. It would be the best thing.

I wish you knew that I miss you. I wish you knew i still cared, and that I do love you. I’m just too scared to tell you. I’m scared you’ll change. I want you to be the guy I fell in love with. The guy I shared my first kiss with on the 18th of May 2009. That guy who bought me silly little presents, and really did treat me like a princess. We went for walks. We’d lie in grassy fields, under oak trees looking at the clouds, talking about stupid things, and dreaming. We’d lie under the stars on Douglas head, and gaze into each others eyes, and kiss a little, and when it got colder, you’d hold me tighter and tighter in your arms. You’d give me your coat. You didn’t care much that you were cold, you were thinking of me, trying your hardest.

Then you joined a band. You went away lots. It was as if you fell out of love. You didn’t care for effort. I came to every show. I sat on my own most times, feeling like an outcast, because I didn’t feel I fitted in very well. I just wanted to prove to you that I cared. I did care. I still do. 

I just wish you knew.

Your lips quiver, your heart pounds, your eyes sting, your face clenches up, and then the tears start to fall. You can’t stop them, no matter how hard you try. And it’s not little tears that slide down your cheeks, it’s big tears that make your eyes red and puffy, your face tear-stained and your body heave. You can’t stop the tears, and as you lie on your bed alone, you think of what could you have possibly done to stop the pain. Stop the suffering. Stop this. Stop what you’re going through. But there’s nothing you can do, nothing anyone can say. It’s the kind of tears and pain that need to be cried out, not talked out.

I wish we never learnt how to lie.

I wish I knew you. I thought I did. I was wrong. So wrong. And now I am lost. You fucked me over. Twice.