Goodbye

[Onyxaeon]

On a corner of my dresser, tucked around a stack of books, there's a wooden box.
Nestled inside that box, buried far from my thoughts, there's a slice of our memories.
A fair few, in fact.
I haven't looked at it since.
There's a novel, tucked under several other volumes, resting there as well.
A gift, one you gave.
I've tried to forget its pages.
I've learned to swerve when I see you,
To tuck my tail, and pray you don't look up.
I'm running.
Because after everything,
It's still /my/ fault you left.
Routine may be safe,
But familiar leaves room for reminiscing.
Because I can pace those halls without needing to see,
Without bothering a thought.
And I try not to think.
I try not feel or see or remember.
I try, honest I do.
So I head for home with glazed over eyes,
And check everything.
Just in case you were wrong about goodbye.
I guess not much has changed.
I'm still hanging on to your every word.
I'm still waiting to be beaten back, and
Stupidly, wishing for it.
I'll clean my wounds better,
Hide the bruises more thoroughly and cover the scars over.
So no one will know but you.
Just like you wanted.
I-I don't mind them so much, really.
Because they're from you and, odd as it sounds,
I think it's your form of love.
I didn't mean to fight back.
I should have stood there,
And let the screams die in my throat.
It hurt.
I bled
And walking, well that was a challenge when they pulled me away.
But you were wanting and you were needing
And I was yours.
So I let you take what you wanted until it hurt.
More than it ever has before.
Because your want was more, I suppose,
And I wasn't strong enough to offer so much.
I had let you have your fill so many times before,
And could not count how many times I felt so small and broken,
Trapped there beneath you.
But this, this was worse.
Because at least you were there.
Now, now you're not and,
Though my scars are fading and my bleeding insides have healed,
I want you back.
Goodbye doesn't mean forever,
I hope.