What Makes Me Cry

What If It Wasn’t Real

She used to message me and beg me to get on to play
I thought she needed me then
Loved spending time together
We would joke
And talk about life
Little things
These days she plays
Without me
It’s me who asks
And she reluctantly accepts
In the game, she’s all anger and frustration
She hates the game
She hates the teammates
She hates me
And she hates herself
She denied that she ever had fun with me today
Says she can’t remember the last time we played
That I annoy her
That we need to win if we play
That we just don’t work together
“I like small talk,” she says about her new friends
“We are too busy asking about favorite colors”
“For me to be mad”
I remember a time we asked each other our favorite colors
I wonder if it was less special than I thought
Or if her new friends are more special than me
Its doubt that destroys love
Not hate or anger
Doubt eating away at a foundation so strong
It promised forever
Today I worry
If I left
Would she even notice
Over the laughter
Of her new friends

This poem is about feeling like what you thought you both cherished, only you actually cherished. That there wasn’t a connection at the level that I originally thought.

If that is actually true, I don’t feel heartbroken. Only depressed. So incredibly disappointed that everything was not as special as I thought it was. It takes me back to my dark places, wondering if anyone could truly love me.

Part of me knows it’s more complicated than that. That there is still hope for us. Still hope for me.