unfollow

you’re not really gone, are you?

your scent lingers on my pillows,

images of your face loiter my mind,

and i find myself incapable of pressing that insignificant button.

to do it would mean truly letting you go of us,

it would mean letting go of hope—letting go of you.

i keep praying you’ll come to your senses,

and find this whole situation ludicrous,

i’m praying you’ll reply—even if it’s just to argue,

because even that is better than this cryptic, cold silence.

none of these thoughts serve me any good.

they feed into my delusions

of who you were and what you meant to me.

that final message should’ve been it—

my cue to cut all ties,

and make you vanish from my life.

your number is long lost,

along with all our conversations—the fond and the bitter.

yet, the unfollow button taunts me,

because all this was against my will.

it was not my desire to let you go,

it was not my desire for things to end this way.

still, it taunts me—it calls me a coward,

for waiting for you to make the first move,

knowing it would hurt me more.

it calls me delusional,

for wanting to go to war for a man who wouldn’t break a nail for me.

it taunts me, and all i can do

is cower behind hope,

as it whispers that it’s only right to let go.

anything else is self-inflicted torture.

so i sit with all this taunting,

this raging despair,

of knowing one day

i’ll find the courage to sever our final connection.

not because you abandoned me,

but because i will have finally learned to live without you.