I’m a coward:
I don’t stop people who cut ahead of me in line.
I’m a liar:
I thought it would be worth it, not to lose you.
It goes like this:
I don’t care if you go out with other people.
I don’t need a label, or to meet your friends and family.
I don’t need to feel secure.
I don’t need you to tell you that you love me.
I don’t need you to love me.
And I don’t want you to fight for me, more than anything.
I don’t love the way your hair sticks up in the back.
I don’t notice the freckles behind your ears as if they’re constellations in my own private sky.
I never felt moments when I could have sworn that we were parts of the same soul.
I never had butterflies in my stomach whenever I kissed you.
Never had a burning desire to protect you, keep you, cherish you, to the exclusion of nearly everything else.
Never forgot how to breathe when you were near.
Or when you were far.
I don’t feel a constant, crushing weight on me.
I don’t care if you ever change.
I don’t want to see you.
And I don’t want to be with you.