because you left.

 

Just say what you mean—
Sometimes it’s hard, I know.
I’ve tried to be gentle,
tried to respect the borders
between us, though it hurt
When silence fell, a heavy stone.

You’re one of the few I trusted
with my tangled, personal things—
not quite betrayal, but something brittle
cracked between us. I wish you’d spoken.
I know I can be slow,
miss the hints you leave behind,
And I’m sorry if I bothered you,

im sorry if i irritated you

im sorry if i hurt you

im sorry.

if I’m too much, too loud—
I carry too many words, too many doubts.
But you know how they left—
my best friends, gone without a word—
that ache never really healed,
You echoed it, and it’s not okay.
I know I don’t deserve that kind of pain.

Maybe I sound proud, but I’m tired—
i’ve been torn up by everyone and now, you,

and the year itself,
so sick of being kind and getting bruised.
People are soft, easier to break
than they let on, and sometimes
I’m too soft for my own good,

but i know what im not
not okay with being hurt again.

not okay with being left alone,

for reasons unknown

I’m the one who tries to keep in touch,
to keep the conversation alive—
sometimes distant, but not in anger,
just tired of being the only friend
who wants to be friends for real.

I try to make it clear: I’m not looking for more.
I’m only young, not ready for anything else,
not trying to be mean—just stressed,
repeating myself so much I wonder
if anyone’s really listening at all.

I miss talking to you, to everyone,

even the ones who wronged me

—once I was known,
not loud, not silent, but present.
Now I sit alone with myself,
doing schoolwork in silence.
My life feels small, closed—
like there’s nothing left to do but write this,
to someone who blocked me,
confessing to the dark.

I know I’m strange,
that I trust too quick,
tell too much,
believe too easily,
and when the lies come,
everyone turns away,
calling me too much, too loud, too hyper—
I’m sorry. I can’t help it.
I’ve tried to help it.
I know I’m broken in ways
I can’t fix.

So here I am,
talking to someone who won’t answer,
saying, finally, that I’m not okay—
at least I can admit it.
And in this quiet,
maybe that’s enough.

And even as they vanished—

like ghosts slipping through my memories—

I know I will miss them,

even the ones who left wounds with their shadows,

even the ones who taught me longing by walking away.