Author's notes: Written when my boyfriend and I were going through an extremely rough time recently. Still kind of in the process of working things out, and this was the result of some of my frustration when we were in the thick of things.

If I only had a way with words,
I'd talk myself out of this brutal emotion.
No matter how I tried to convince myself,
I've never really been able to claim
that this trembling hand could produce
anything more than clumsy letters scrawled
on some damp notebook paper.

How pathetic that I don't even have
that artistic way with words anymore,
or whatever I had called it back when
I had it, this thing I'm trying so desperately
to remember.

I should probably put this in lament's terms
so you can at least attempt understanding
my reasons for leaving.

Who wouldn't leave, right?
Or maybe I'm throwing away something
that could've been so much more
than what I've allowed it to become.

I mean, everyone makes mistakes, and
you are really just one of everyone, if I
want to think of it that way;
as if you had given me a choice.
Or you did?

I'm just so used to forgetting these days.