Dear so and so,
i told you to give me time. i know i’ll wonder. and i’ll be curious. i’ll want to know why you never called even though i told you not to. i’ll want to know why your love for me never pushed you to call or write to me. i’ll want to know how you went to bed at night without thinking of me. maybe our parts crossed paths in another dimension and our lymphocytes labelled our blood as foreign, our intentions as pretentious.
i was waiting to be broken. waiting to be torn up inside and scrambled up in my inner most being. you saw right through me didnt you? you noticed i hated my legs because my knees “kissed” each other. you noticed i was un-pretentious and un-relenting. you said you liked dark skinned women and i said, “you are lighter than me”. you shrugged and carried on about how i was taller than you. how i’d probably be a “trophy” girl if we ended up together. and i marvelled at the word “trophy girl”. almost as if you put in work to have me. almost as if your mind had planted a seed of will within your mind and it had grown enough branches to draw you a map of where to find me.
you probably think i am full of myself. that between my eyes and the back of my head is a hallway full of mirrors and in their reflection lies my image. maybe love is full of itself. maybe love is full of holes. like a hand-me-down dress we forgot to give attention to and it fell apart. maybe i’m difficult. and maybe you are right.