Why is it me?

Why Is It Me?

Why is it me who said goodbye,

Yet I'm the one who breaks inside?

I thought that letting you go

Would help us heal, would help us grow.

But four months later, here I stand

Still reaching for your absent hand.

I don't just miss you.

I return.

To moments that still quietly burn.

I see the train, the closing door,

The rush to reach you just once more.

I made it with a minute to spare,

And kissed you the moment I found you there.

Now every train that comes my way

Takes a little piece of me away.

I miss buying vegetables with you,

Teaching you words the locals knew,

So you could bargain, proud and bright,

And celebrate saving five rupees that night.

Now every market, every stall,

Makes me miss you most of all.

I miss hanging your clothes to dry

While you'd shower and I'd pass by.

Such a small thing.

So ordinary.

Yet losing it feels extraordinary.

I miss reminding you to wear sunscreen,

Because you never cared where the sun had been.

Now when I put some on my face,

I remember your smile, your stubborn grace.

I wasn't even a tea person then,

But whenever it rained, you'd ask again,

"Should I make us some tea?"

I'd always say yes.

Not because I loved tea, but because I loved this.

Now every cup tastes incomplete,

Like it's missing the person who made it sweet.

I miss riding behind you on your scooty,

Listening to you explain why cars were unnecessary.

You made the smallest journeys feel like adventures.

Now every ride feels like a road

Leading somewhere you've already gone.

I miss waking before you,

Watching you sleep,

Leaving tiny kisses on your cheeks

So gently they wouldn't wake you.

And every morning now

Feels like a habit searching for a home.

I miss packing your lunch,

And your messages later:

"It was so good."

"You're a better cook than me."

I miss your excitement

Whenever your rotis puffed up perfectly,

As if it wasn't something

You had done it a hundred times before.

You found joy in small victories.

Maybe that's why losing you

Feels so impossibly large.

I miss everything.

Not just the big things.

The little things.

The forgettable things.

The things nobody writes poems about....

Except they're all I write poems about now.

And what hurts the most

Is that all I ever wanted

Was forever.

A simple life.

A quiet life.

You and me.

Instead, I gave you a goodbye.

And now I keep wondering—

Is this how villains feel?

To hurt the person they love

And then spend every day wishing

Could they take it back?

Sometimes I want to call you.

Sometimes I want to ask if you've forgiven me.

Sometimes I want to ask you

How to stop missing you.

Because surely you were always better at fixing things than I was.

Is there a shortcut?

A price I can pay?

How much does forgetting cost?

And if I could afford it,

Would I even be brave enough to pay?

I don't know.

All I know

Is that I hope you don't miss me

Even half as much as I miss you.

Because this pain is unbearable,

And if you're carrying it too,

Then I'm sorry.

I'm so, so sorry.

I don't know if you'll forgive me.

I don't know if I deserve it.

But if anyone ever asks what happened to me,

Tell them I kept going.

Tell them I smiled when I could.

Tell them I tried to move on.

And tell them I failed.

Because every train,

Every market,

Every cup of tea,

Every sunrise,

Still leads me back to you...

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1tx7mf0/comment/opudmld/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1trg60k/comment/opued0u/