Three in the morning

It’s three in the morning and I can’t sleep.
Thinking about you got me into my feelings real deep.
Questions start coming into my head and I wonder where the fuck and how the fuck did it all end?
It’s three in the morning & I’m sitting here writing about you for the umpteenth time this month, thinking of the moment when I’ll get to say that I’ve had enough.
It’s three in the morning and here I am hoping that today would finally be the day you’d shoot a text & say “hey..”.
I keep telling myself to quit, we weren’t meant to be and that’s the end of that, but what good is that when my heart tells me otherwise almost every single day?
And yet, I blamed myself, never once blaming you.
Because that’d be incompetent of me, I’d look like a fool.
But yet, it was you on that August day, who said, “I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore.”
Darling, I don’t think you even knew the way I felt when you ripped my heart out and shut the door.
And for the next grueling months, I sat there and I wrote, never once mentioning your name.
& even though the words were always different, the way you appeared in every single word & line remained the same.
But maybe, just maybe I’ll be found dead with ink blotted papers laid on my side with the unspoken words I never told you, & maybe then you’ll be in the knowing..
Of the words I wrote for you at three in the morning.

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