I find that there are words that I should have spoken, not late at night into the pillow, but to you, so that you would know.
I find that I sit here now, writing the words I am still unable to allow flutter past my lips. I am afraid to let those words dance between us in the air, weaving patterns between our eyes. I am afraid that they will wrench us asunder, so that we may not speak again while we tread the paths of this tiny planet.
I find that wherever I see you, I cannot be who I once was, I cannot talk to you the way we used to talk. All has changed, and the clock ticks forever on, stealing our moments and casting them into the abyss that is oblivion.
I find that my heart clenches when I see you happy with someone else, when I hear your voice rise above the rest, its cadence piercing through all the walls I have erected to protect myself. Each and every time, I break a little more.
I find that revulsion is awash within me when I look at you, and see your gaze isn't directed towards me, but elsewhere. I cast my own downwards, to hide the hurt that abides there, for I don't want you to see that pain you're causing me.
I find that I cannot wait for you anymore, it tears me apart. You are my own scarlet letter, seared into my soul, which nothing in the world can remove; it will forever be a healing wound.
I find that as I write this, I can see that you are the embodiment of everything that I once wanted. You aren't the same person anymore either, you aren't the one that I want anymore.
I find that I cannot even shed a tear; none escape from the prison of my eyelids, because you aren't able to inspire them any longer.
I find that I will miss you for eternity, and wonder, would you ever think of me?
I find it doesn't matter.
And perhaps I will finally walk away now, because I find that sorry isn't good enough anymore.