A Letter to My Hurricane

I thought that if I gave you your stuff back, then your ghost would leave me. And I thought that if I flirted with other guys, I'd forget the words you told me before. But the truth is, everything I do makes my heart ache more.

So I called you. I called to ask you when you stopped loving me. I called to ask you why you started to tell your friends that I was a prude. I called to ask you if you ever loved me. I called to ask myself why I still love you.

 

After two rings, I hung up.

On the first ring, it was like I was kissing you all over again. I remembered the feeling of your lips on mine. I remembered the way your Carmex   spread onto my lips. And I remember the last time I kissed you- and oh, how it hurts.

On the second ring, I felt all the pain that I've felt over the last two months. I remember the fight on our drive home from Wendy's. And I remember turning away from you, slamming the door in your face, and I regret not kissing you goodbye that night. And I regret every time I opened up to you. Because now, you know so much, so many things that kill me to remember. You know about the concert. You know about my brother. You know about my past. And now I'm fill with hatred and pain- targeted at myself.

 

So I texted you.

And I apologized for calling. And I followed that with "sorry". But you won't realize that I'm apologizing for what I've done to you.

And I admitted that I was dumb for calling you. And I followed that with "sorry". But you won't realize that I'm apologizing for not being the girlfriend you wanted and needed.

 

And I'm sorry.

I really am.

 

I'm sorry that I put you in this situation.

I'm sorry that I can't move on.

I'm sorry that I wouldn't give you all of me.

 

But thank you.

Thank you for being the first-

the first guy I ever kissed

the first guy I ever truly loved

the first guy I ever slow-danced with

the first guy I ever pictured a future with

the first guy that made me cry in the bathroom of a banquet hall while my best friend held back my hair

the first guy to make me realize that guys will only want me for sex

the first guy to make me want to move on- even when I can't.

 

So I'm sorry. But please just tell me... how do I move on from a guy like you?

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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