How much more heartbreaks do I need to bear before I'd finally meet you?
My love, I'm sick of these fake promises, temporary hello's, unsaid goodbye's, and wet pillows.
I'm done watching sunsets with people who didn't stay after the night, and welcoming sunrises with someone who was too drunk to remember everything that happened.
I've had too many tattoos and scars to remind me of the pain each person inflicted upon me: physically and emotionally. I've made too many playlists of songs I used to listen to with rockstars who couldn't take me to concerts, but I still loved them anyway.
I've wasted too many "i love you"s to assholes who said it back in monotone; in a reflex, like a computer programmed to serve my needs because it was just the protocol. "I miss you"s sounded real sometimes but they still left me like they haven't moaned it while we're on the phone trying to get done.
I'm fed up with all these people coming in and leaving with so much ease; without even glancing back just to make sure I wasn't crying and drinking to death.
Honey, I'm tired making mistakes because I loved too much even if they didn't deserve it. I loved them so much—thinking and believing it was you.
I've cut my hair countless times, drank beer as if it was water, burned returned and unread letters, and emptied my wallet for getaways in hopes that I'd found my heart in places I could get lost to. I have moved on and let go from all of them but why are you not still here?
When will you arrive?
Are you even coming?