rose

i thought you would be my rose.

but i often forget that roses have thorns.

you were there when i needed you—but only when it was convenient.

you supported me and lifted me up—but only if you were happy, too.

from the outside, at a glance, you were beautiful. you were kind, you made me laugh, i always wanted to be around you. i began to crave you. i couldn’t go a day without seeing my rose.

you were the light of my life. a beautiful rose. your delicate petals drew everyone into you, like the way droplets of water just seemed to stick to your leaves.

but i got too close, and i forgot you had thorns.

i kept going back, saying to myself, i’ll be careful. i won’t prick myself.

but just because i don’t feel the thorns doesn’t make them just go away.

i forget that i shouldn’t have to rely on my rose for happiness; yet i still do. and it’s as if i don’t care if i get pricked again—i’m addicted to the way you hurt me, the way you draw me in and push me away at the same time. i want you to be happy, and even though those same words tumble carelessly out of your mouth, how can i know it won’t be followed by betrayal?

i’m not sure if you mean to do this. to make me feel as though i matter to no one in the universe. to make it seem as though the only time i am worth anything is when you send a simple text.

dear ex best friend,

i love you. but i am done sacrificing myself for you. i will always admire you from afar, so i can still see the beauty of your petals, but so that i may save myself from the pain of your thorns.