if you read this…
if you read this,
then maybe you knew.
maybe you always knew.
and you just never asked,
because you're kind like that.
because you let people hurt you
and pretend they didn't.
because you smiled when she called you a whore
and still fucking answered when i called you at 3 am.
if you read this,
then you must've known
how much i fucking loved you.
even when i said i didn't.
even when i chose her.
even when i swore we were just friends.
you must've known
that every time you laughed,
i fell deeper into something i wasn't brave enough to name.
you must've seen it
when i stood there frozen in your wedding day—
too drunk to function,
too sober to pretend i was okay.
if you read this,
i'm sorry.
i'm sorry for lying.
for hiding.
for making you question your worth,
when you were the only person
who ever made me feel like i had one.
you made me better.
you always did.
and now you're gone—
not dead,
but worse:
happy,
whole,
and not mine.
so if you read this…
thank you.
for every poem i never wrote,
for every coldplay song i'll never hear the same,
for every version of me
that only existed when i was with you.
this is the end of our story.
not with fireworks.
not with a goodbye.
but with this:
i loved you.
and i never stopped.
even when i said i did.
– Grey