How The Roses Die

Its been a month since we last kissed, and I've been desperately trying to figure out why love sounds more of an apology than a confession when it comes from my mouth. I have come to the conclusion that it's because I've been emotionally unavailable since I figured out that no matter how much you miss someone, it will not make them love you. I find myself surrounded by those who have left more so than those who stay so much they start to blur together. You said that loving me was like constantly coming up for air without being underwater; but you didn't notice me drowning in the promises you were breaking. 

Someone once told me "leave before they love you or you will stay until they don't anymore." You were writing my name in cement while I was carving yours into the moon and I have fallen in love with you more times than I can count and I wonder if that means I have fallen out of love just as many- they're both equally as scary. 

I was too worried about you leaving me that it's only fitting I'm sitting here asking the window panes where you went. I think of things I would say to you if you decide to return my calls and I've decided that I would tell you that this is for the best, and maybe we were too good anyways. But I know if that ever happened I would only be able to say "I miss you." I'm trying not to let this bitterness I have towards you leave a bad taste in my mouth but I've never seen the point of your lips if they weren't pressed against mine- and lately all I've been able to think about is you leaning in first for someone who isn't me.