Trying to fall asleep

to the sound of fireworks

is as useless

as trying to forget

about you

and the way

your words

would take my breath away.

And I’ll never know why you stopped.

Are you laying in a hospital bed

somewhere

unconscious?

Are you still alive?

Did you kill yourself?

It’s cruel to leave me wondering

and even justifying to myself

why you haven’t

gotten in touch with me.

The explanation I hate

is the one that’s most likely true:

you’re fine and well

and have just stopped writing me.

So every time

I see your profile pic

and the last unanswered messages

I sent you,

I feel deep resentment.

I wrote things that I know

made you feel

just as hot and bothered.

So, what?

Was I not worth an explanation

or a simple goodbye?

Do you enjoy playing

with other people’s feelings?

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised

in a society

where relationships are disposable.

Plot twist:

The one who was so afraid of being

ghosted

became the ghoster.

Who do you think you are?

And, more importantly,

who do you think I am

that I deserve to be

treated this way?

I want to reach out to you,

try to re-open a door.

Yet, at the same time,

I’m not ready for whatever

bullshit excuse

or lame apology

you might attempt to offer me.

I miss you

and I’m so angry at you.

And I don’t know how to

balance those two things.

I want you back

but I also

want to make you

crawl across broken glass

to get back into my good graces.

I don’t know how to resolve this.

I don’t know how to cope

with the loss of you.

I don’t know how to let you back in.

In the words of Carly Simon,

why’d you have to be so good?

If you had been forgettable

or regrettable,

this would be so much easier.

Holding on

to the vain hope

of your return

is killing me.

So I will delete you

and all your false words

and try not to look back.