not yet

Come with me. Please I begged. Let's finally be free, let's choose ourselves, and let this life of ours be experienced. You pulled me into your embrace and silenced me with a kiss. I could feel it, the goodbye that had long been awaiting. We were never going to be anything, except a mere memory of a dream that was better envisioned in our heads. 

We could've been real, but you held back; you weren't ready. Instead, you blamed me for my life choices, and you also blamed everything and everyone else. You wouldn't allow us to have more than this moment.

What happens when you don't get the chance to say goodbye? 

Everything from them becomes a broken record — a consistent replay of the good, never the bad. 

I thought I had no tears left for you, yet my chest seems to still shift; I pray it's shifting and hardening. I don't think I can take yet another leaving. That's why I leave or push you past the breaking point; it's easier to make you think it was your choice. When in truth, all I have done is just create another forum of armour. 

You can't break the broken. 

When I'm gone... will you hold on to the memory of me? Which one? How will you remember me... will you remember me the way I want you to? 

Don't leave...

not yet

not when I still cry out your name