Every time you go, there’s less of you that comes back.

An insecure boy that grew into an avoidant man. A man who confuses solitude for safety. Do not try and tell me that this was something it was not.  

Wait, before you go again, here, take this back. I won’t be here when you return, even if I look over my shoulder as I leave.

Beggars can’t be choosers. Trust me, I know. But please, just once, tell me something honest. This time I will really let you go, even if I look over my shoulder as I leave.

A confident girl that grew up and learned how easy it is for trust to be broken, and how much harder it is to find that love again.

Virtuous I must be to endure so much, to wait for it even. Forced vows of silence subject me to sainthood, and I have been senselessly devout. I hope I am forgiven for each wrongfully preserved reputation.

I hope you can rectify your guilty conscious with further avoidance. You think to get far from it so it will no longer exist. You look over your shoulder as you leave and despite the distance, you find it followed you.

Beggars can’t be choosers, and now I no longer beg.

A mind reader I am not, but I have learned to see such a thing coming.

And even then, I look over my shoulder as I leave.