The harsh illumination casted off my iPhone screen irritates my eyes,

yet still I search for answers in lost Snapchat streaks, read receipts, and subtweets.

I wonder if you’re lying on your bed,

anxiously scouring our text messages for closure of your own.

Or do you not care?

See that is my predicament.

I care way too much

especially for people who have little concern for me.

Yet still I do not know what is worse:

hoping that you felt something,

anything

or getting the chance to grieve over the fact you didn’t.

You see, mourning is a luxury that I do not have.

It requires the understanding that something that existed is no longer there

But how do you mourn over something that never existed,

yet ripped a whole in your chest so wide

you fear there may never be enough thread in this whole world

to stitch it back together.

So here I sit trying to recall the moment in which I thought I had a chance

When I fell for you and trusted you’d catch me,

But instead you pulled your once extended arms straight back into your chest.

You watched me hit the reality beneath my feet

before walking away without explanation.

And at first I blamed myself

Maybe I did not call your name loud enough or try hard enough

But I now know, that is not it

You are a selfish person who used me to fill the hole within yourself

and when you were finally satisfied,

you were so disgusted with the lie you had feed,

that you had no choice but to flee.

You were such a definitive person in my life and I have nothing to show for it.

No pictures, no milestones or cute little keepsakes

just tear-stained diary pages and a heart full of regret.

I do not wish to be erased scribbles and doodles on your used notebook,

now covered up by new plans of leading another girl on.

You see, all I ever wanted was to be written in pen,

staining the pages of your life with my permanent ink.