My mind always wonders back to you.

To what we had.

Always blaming time and circumstances,

For the choices you made.

And that’s fine.

People place effort where they want to.

And you chose to question and view the beauty of what we could have been..

As a burden.

Always shutting me up at the first sign of upset

So every time I tried to speak out

I was ‘pathetic’

Words may not break bones

But they stay with you…

They haunt you.

Pathetic?

Me?

For being rightfully upset?

If so, what are you?

For all you’ve done, and all you do?