Final Goodbye

Maybe if you said sorry, it would help me. To be finally acknowledged for how hard I tried. To know that you thought of something, anything, and it weighed down on you so much you had to take accountability.

People tell me I think about it too much, when you’re probably not thinking about it at all. Is that true? Am I as insignificant as you are making me feel? Was all that emotional pain for nothing?

Maybe when you’re 40, you’ll have time to sit and reflect. You’ll think about me, the girl from your early 20’s, and you’ll realize how truly young we were, how young I was. You’ll think about how much I took on for you to feel supported and safe. Will you remember the night I held you while you cried? When you told me you wanted to die? The nights where I stayed awake to make sure you didn’t die in your sleep because you drowned out your feelings in bottles of vodka? The night where you first told me you loved me but were too drunk to remember you said it the next day? The night where I stood by you as the cops tried to take you away? Will you have empathy for me then? When life has passed you by and the party has come to an end, will you know how young we really were? Will you sit with those feelings remembering how long I was willing to wait for you to be ready? How young and scared I was, but ready to take it all on? I won’t wait anymore for you, and I forgave you a long time ago although I know you’re not sorry.