twentyseven, counts.

What I know now is that, people don’t last in relationships. Not in this lifetime, not in the next. I know that people choose to stay, but that sometimes break because, the heart only cares for so much, and so long. I know that love doesn’t always mean to stay, or to keep going. I know that love is sometimes, just for a season, a moment, a picture, a smile, a day, a reason, but never a lifetime.

When I was young, I had no idea what it meant to care for someone. I didn’t know what it meant to be a friend. I didn’t know what it meant to love someone. 

I took pride; like I knew what love was, in the things that mattered, just for the instances that they lasted. 

I watched time, people, things, pass. I’d sit by the bus stop and catch buses pass me, glances pass me, voices pass me. 

In this sadness dwell the purest definition of loss, of fear, of screams, of needing someone, of hoping for someone. Seasons have passed me, days have become years, and I stood the same, I felt the same, I cried about the same thing. 

I wanna tear myself up, scrape the sadness, scrape the insecurities, scrape the fears, take the sadness, and burn it. I wanna cry for the last time, and never again. Not for the sadness that dwell, ever again. 

Today, Yesterday, and maybe Tomorrow shall pass, and the day after, I wont feel so numb no more. 

As comfortable and romantic as it felt to walk alone, to see things, and find meaning; to ride on instances of wander, to wonder with no destination, I want no more of it. 

I wanna move on.

You don’t belong here anymore.

I was never yours. I don’t want you anymore.