Why didn’t you want to take my picture? Why didn’t you want to capture me in those moments of honesty while I was singing my ass off to Aimee Mann while doing dishes, or cuddling in bed with the dog? Why didn’t you gently take my hand and tell me you just wanted to feel me close during the movie instead of rolling your eyes when I said ‘I need to go to bed’? Why did you never adorably ball your fists in frustration when we teased ourselves by making out at times we couldn’t have each other? Why were you so sure you could wait? Why could I never turn you on that much? Why did you need to make big things out of little things? Why couldn’t you let those little things go? Why did you not pursue your interests, your friends, new friends? Why did you adopt mine? Why did you get so comfortable? Why did you always stay up late only to be frantic and pissy with me in the morning? Why did you always lament what every else has? Why did you not see what you had? Why did you say the words of recognition, but refuse to do anything to change it? Why did you leave me in denial of a situation spiraling out of control? Why did you make me the one to say ‘enough is enough’? Why do I have to hold the bag of guilt for that? Why did you stay when you knew you didn’t love me?


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