You never said goodbye

I'm filled with words 

I wish I would have said, 

things I wish I didn't do 

and letters that I never sent. 

I'm filled with the love I never gave, 

the heart that never mended 

and a lot of poetry I wish I could share. 

But instead, 

they're stuck between the pages of old notebooks 

and hidden on password locked documents on my laptop.

Every day the sun rises and the sun sets.

And with each passing moment, 

I still hold onto all of these things dearly, 

unable to let them go.

Although sometimes I wish 

they would slip between my fingers 

and find home in the people 

I wish would harbor them. 

I've spent so long 

telling myself all the things 

you should have said, 

but never did.

You never even said goodbye. 

But I try to convince myself 

that you're saying goodbye 

every time you walk past me 

without saying hello. 

You're saying goodbye 

when you're laughing 

in a new picture 

with someone else. 

You're saying goodbye 

when you sing new songs 

that I will never hear the lyrics to. 

You're saying goodbye 

when you drink too much 

and kiss girls whose names 

you will never remember. 

You're saying goodbye 

without saying anything. 

And each goodbye hits me 

harder than the previous one.

Who said that it gets easier? 

Because it sure as hell feels like 

it's only getting harder. 

These are the goodbyes 

you never said, 

but I will tell myself 

that you are screaming 

your goodbyes 

every time.

— m.f. // You never said goodbye