I wish you hadn't been the way you were—
but that doesn't mean I hated your spirit.
Beautiful that we were it pained me.
We were like opposite poles—
You were like the summer,
and I winter.
And sometimes,
I wished you'd see past your freemind,
to notice my quiet suffering.
For you,
I played pretend.
But this isn't a poem about me—
it's about you.
Trust me—
as I write this down,
I would have given you everything...
but I had nothing to give.
And what feels almost unreal—
even to me—
is that I was the one
who walked away
from us.