Tell her, when she comes, to bring a remedy.

Yes. I bet it stung.
like forcing those last words
to finally slip from your tongue
Don't worry, love
You are no more or less broken
or resilient
than you pretended to be
Before I met you, I was known
by some other girl's name.
You know, the one that made you
feel like you had to fix me
and that one that convinced you
that you could. Someday.
So you see I'm just the same sad song
on repeat and I know how it feels
Believe me. Or don't.
The endings never made sense to you anyway
so you stuffed my
book of poems inside your
book of questions and expected
me to give you all the answers
like they haven't been there all along..
But what you've been reading is
all half-hope and half-lies--
the white kind. They seemed
purer. Or simpler.
But I've never done simple,
never wanted the neatly trimmed
forgiveness and solid lines
I'm attracted to the complications
that formed the boulder sitting
on the tip of your tongue.
I wasn't the only one to sting you
wasn't the only one to leave you
in your dust of mourning
and I won't be the last
So when you ask me why I'm running
I will probably say I'm a fan of history
and I don't want to
break the pattern
'cause it hurts too much to
rip the stitches, love.