The “why” you never gave me.

And part of me wants to walk away ’til you really listen I hate to look at your face and know that we’re feeling different ’Cause part of me wants you back, but I know it won’t work like that, huh?

“Do you really need to delete his contact?”

What is the point of preserving your name in my phone when you were the first to let the pulse of our messages go cold?

What is the point of communication when you choose to leave me suspended in the silence of a ‘read’ receipt? I kept asking questions you had no intention of answering. Reaching to your haunted hallway, even to your friends, only to be met with your indifference.

What is the point of an explanation to your friends when you are busy staging a performance for them, feeding them a version of ‘us’ where you are the hero and I am the villain? All that just to keep your ego fed?

What is the point of “again” when the cycle always breaks in the same state? Is this your way of undoing me? Matching the wounds I once gave you, heartbeat for heartbeat?

What’s the point of yearning for your presence when you were never even there for me? I am tired of translating my soul for someone who won’t even read my simplest words.

What is the point of a love that lives in your words but dies in your hands? When they kept asking me, “Why him?”, I repeatedly told them they’d only understand if they stood where I stand. Because they saw a stranger, while I swore I saw a saint. I defended your soul while they judged your surface, but now I’m realizing I was sugarcoating an existence that never truly existed.

It was always your shadows, your insecurity, and your immaturity that clung between us.

Was “us” ever even in the room?

Just a trail of question marks. Because I am still waiting for the ‘why’ that (may) never came.