Looking back over knives

that’s exactly what it feels like.

I saw the signs. My friends told me, my mentors told me. My mother even took your side. 
I’d like to look back on all the good times, all the fun, all the joy you inspired, but somehow some way, it seems like you go the extra mile to … to just prove to me, that it meant nothing.. or atleast not as much as it meant for me.

i’ve been told love is love. Everybody loves the same. Love is the same emotion, affection differs. But it’s like you didn’t love me. it hurts to see it now, but you didn’t. like knives in my chest. 

But talking to you about my birthday, all you can say is you don’t know what to get me.
Before I even loved you, i knew what to get you when you were hungry, when you were sad, when you were tired, when we had to celebrate, When it was your fucking birthday, I got you everything you didn’t get from me for 20 years of your life.

But you don’t know what to get me for my birthday, the one year you got to know me so well.

part of me wishes i could have these conversations with you.
but all of me knows you wouldn’t understand.

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