Why do I bother talking to ghosts anyway? in My Fucking Feelings

My mind picks you apart,
Piece by piece,
Wondering what’s really there.

What is real,
What was just part of your disguise?

Again,
It shouldn’t matter should it?

Were you really that devout boy?
Or just using my religion against me?
Probably somewhere in between the two.

Did you really love me?
Or never wanted to marry me anyway.

Your story has changed over the years.

Still, it shouldn’t matter.

Maybe this is just my way of seeking closure, any way I can.

Maybe I just want what I can’t have.

Maybe it’s trauma’s fruitation.

Maybe it’s just my obsession with your brain, and others like it.

Seems like yours is the perfect puzzle.
But perhaps I’d appreciate it more from back here.

If I only I could get close and be an unnoticed observer.

But no matter how far away I stay I am still too close to be unnoticed.

I wish you weren’t too scared to talk to me.

Honestly.

Like you used to do.

When it was just us two.

I miss how your eyes would light up like a summer flame.

And that look in your eye much later.
When you thought I said something nice.
But of course you won’t let yourself be fooled again.

Guarded.

I can only describe it as petrified hope.

I see love behind that pain.

Otherwise, there wouldn’t be pain would there?

There doesn’t need to be.

You haven’t lost me.

Just misunderstood.
So easy to do
With me
Everyone else misunderstands too.