Valentines hard

I loved you so hard.

Yes I still have all the lilac cards but please don't think it's because I can't bring myself to throw them away. It's practical. I've not changed the colour scheme in the bedroom so they still blend as well you knew they would each time you bought one, wrote a line or a word in, posted them halfway down the country. I only keep them until I find something else that will fill the gap, meet my aesthetic standards. You may have been right, it may be that it's all about my standards. Just, may. I haven't stopped fighting yet. I'm not fucking dead yet. Not outside.

I did love you but it was so hard.

And you've done it again. You're nowhere near but I'm only nerves and emotions and words tripping over one another to be expressed, no, exorcised and my mind is screaming, screaming to be heard but my voice is that of a smothered little girl and my fingers can hardly find the letters I need on the keyboard but it's important they do because I know you'll read even if you never actually hear the desperate typing.

I wanted so hard to love you.

Opposites attract. (Poles apart)
Age doesn't matter. (A man that 13yrs my senior shouldn't drain me like another young child)
Deeply sensitive. (A weak dropout that has financially enabling parents to angst over)
The best lover I ever had. (When did it become all about your acceptance/rejection/extreme submissive tendencies?)
You are a beautifully diverse woman. (Hang on while I name which of your multiple bonkers personalities I'm dealing with right now)
I love watching your intelligence at work. (Scoring as highly as that you're too good to study, jack it in)
Dump your whole family, you only need me. (We have to show willing with my lot, they send large cheques)
Leonard Cohen. (Elizabethan Lute playing girlie?!)

I think I'm done, I think I've exorcised all the words now. Not that you'll read them cos this is somewhere you don't know, my place, not mail or text to your places but that's okay, this was about me, not you. You'll laugh at that, feel hard done by. Not to worry. For all the clever words you hurt me with, for all the people I love and you used to get to me at various 5am's, for all the long, tormenting nights, this is my answer.

I'd rather be a) utterly, desolately lonely, than b) be with you.

But I'd really like a c) choice.