I tell myself to hold my head high. I didn’t want it any way. I didn’t want to be your rebound. I didn’t want to label myself yours and lose sight of mine. We wouldn’t have worked because I am me and you are you. You didn’t have the same ambition, and you always think you’re right. You’re selfish and just like everyone else. You’re scared of commitment but want me all in. You refuse to give and swear the world is against you. I hated the way you used your tongue when we kissed and the way you interrupted me when I spoke. This is the second time we’ve broken up, and I still can’t define what we were when we were together.
This is the pattern of relationships I keep. I’ll add you to the tally of trespassers that barged into my personal space, took refuge in the warmth of my space and tore down walls it would take me months to rebuild as they stormed out. The wasted want is all that’s left behind with a trail of promises that somehow never stick. I swear to stop giving these people pieces of me. My time, my energy, my space, my attention, and my sex. I will post up a sign that says barren and strap it to my hips. I have nothing left to give part-time, passé passengers.