Torn
I don’t know if it is intelligent or appropriate to think about you, to miss you at all. I don’t know if I should try to initiate a reunion between us or not. Mainly I don’t know why I take a different route home so that I can drive by your house, silently hoping for the tiniest glance at you, at what your life is life now, at what your life is like without me in it. I don’t know if I should feel guilty and therefore, I don’t know if I should apologize. I don’t know if us reuniting would be good or not. I don’t know if I have anything to say to you. That’s a lie, but the truth is I don’t know if I will be able to say anything to you, to confess to you, to take responsibility for what I did to you. I don’t know if I’m that strong. I don’t know if I should be afraid of you. I don’t know if you still have the capacity to hurt me. I don’t know if I would be mad if you hurt me. I don’t know if I would mind if you killed me. I don’t know why our relationship has become so passion-driven in all the most harmful ways. I don’t know if it was ever anything different. I don’t know if I would mind giving myself up to you. I kind of like the idea of the innocence and circularity of you being my first of everything that is important. I don’t know if I loved you. I do know that I was obsessed and submerged in you. I don’t know if you could even get past the hate. I don’t know if you could even forgive me. I don’t know if it was even my fault.