Close The Book

I have written the untold tale, all the things I never said out loud when you were here, all the thoughts I kept to myself. I've written you a thousand letters I will never send. I play all the right songs at all the perfect moments, knowing you are too far away to hear them. My secret narrative tells all about how the thought of being responsible for your happiness terrified me more than anything has ever terrified me before, how I still run my hands along the things you touched searching for your echoes, how I lied when I made it seem like I had ever been more special than in your eyes, how being with you was the first time falling in love felt plausible, how watching you leave me behind is like ripping out a piece of my soul, how I miss you so much sometimes I forget to breathe, how seeing you happy means more than any painful part possibly could, how sorry I am I didn't stay, how I love you, how I always will. The truth is, even if I wanted to show you my words it would be impossible, those two people no longer exist. You and I are just a story no one reads anymore. Here on the last unvoiced page, it finally reads: The End.