The love letter that was never sent

I do not miss you Jane
Yeah, I know you're doing great in your lane
You Just bagged a deal with an author
I am now with Gwen Victor

Gwen is perfect for me
We do not hide things from each other.
We only do not talk about anything that matter

I do not stalk you online; I would never do that
I only check in your Facebook two or three times a day in total
And your Instagram, five times, if it matters
I try not to go through your tweets, but I turn on your tweet notifications.
I know you moved out of your apartment to a place farther

See Jane, I do not love you anymore, Gwen is more than you would ever be
Although your name still melt my heart and makes it skip beats

Jane, I do not think about our nights together anymore
I have Gwen rub my back all night long

I thrashed out the cologne you got me for my last birthday- afterall it is finished
But I collected the container back and I smell it every morning
Of course I know we are finished

You left your handkerchief here, I keep it just to present it to you if we cross paths again, over a dinner maybe.
Well kept and unwashed, so it would not lose your scent

Dear Jane, I am not obsessed with you
But I do long for the day you will come walking back into my heart.

what if I see you no more
my dried up tears preparing for a futile war
with your face blurred into the background
a faint echo of what meant to be safe and sound
yet here I am for you
pixel perfect skin
no blemishes
from within
eden of all wishes

what if I hear you no more
your empty promises I used to abhor
your words a whirlpool of nonsense
distant murmur of the past
yet here I am for you
an other empty vessel of pleasure
drained
of hope
of dreams
of life
your treasure

what if I feel you no more
I'm but a pile of dead receptors washed ashore
a temple for your abominable lust
nourishing a well concealed disgust
yet I'm here for you
answering your call
wet and ready to screw
I'm gonna take it all

what if I am no more
but a puppet you adore
bearing gifts galore
forever your whore

 
 
I    
 
I sometimes think about    
you when I fuck    
your replacement      
     
I wonder if    
you thought    
about me while    
you fucked mine    
     
after all    
     
I was right there    
     
     
II    
     
I wish      
it had been    
anyone      
but you    
     
III    
     
I keep telling      
my dumb-cunt self    
the goddamn story    
wasn’t real    
     
the fairytale    
where your sweat    
dripped down    
my rib cage,    
and your chest    
heaved above mine    
(wasn’t real)    
     
but if it had been,    
I wish I’d wrapped      
my legs around      
you    
     
one    
last    
time    
     
     
IV    
     
You didn’t lie about      
one thing:    
     
I’m really never      
going to get that      
high again    
     
     
V      
     
I figured    
I’d have a final    
cry over you    
     
But the tears      
didn’t come,  
just the hurt.  
     
I always did like    
the pain,    
     
though, it was    
cleaner when    
it was in your bed    
     
     
VI    
     
I made you      
     
my god    
     
and you      
sacrificed me    
     
     
VII    
     
I don’t have a  
fucking point    
     
     
VII    
     
I listened      
to that piece    
and I finally got      
that last    
cry    
     
because I don’t  
want you    
   
 
and I always
sucked at lying
     
     
IX    
     
I went to bed    
with a smile,    
that night.
 
That last night.
     
You made me  
laugh,    
come,    
and sigh  
in fangirl-awe      
over your    
craftsmanship      
while waxing poetical    
about the sunset.    
     
(In that order.)    
     
I trusted the
barest motes    
of my soul    
in your rugged hands.
 
And you dusted them off
on the front of your jeans.   
     
I wish I’d never woken    
up the next morning.
     
I fucking wish I’d never      
woken up the next morning    
     
Because my      
last dream      
would have been    
of our      
entwined
limbs      

 
 
     
X    
     
You were      
always    
enough