the thing about leaving

leaving, in a strange way,
seems to hurt more than 
being left, something
i never thought i would say.

but my head hurts and
you've given up on calling me,
so i really can't tell if you
ever cared.

i spend my hours pondering
uselessly about the fact that maybe
you just wanted to talk to someone,
and i was always there.

i was a jacket you could wear
when you were cold, but you threw
me away just as the summer air 
blew against your skin.

i drive myself insane at night,
a bitter taste in the back of my mouth
as i wonder if you wished
i was her all those times you
walked away.

did you want it to be her?
was i enough to fill the hole she
left, the one i only found when i stumbled 
into it?
or did i fall just short, my fingers
grasping for yours as you watched
me scream?

i absorb attention from anyone
surrounding me like a desperate sponge,
hungry for more because you took
so much away from my heart without
ever knowing it.
(your ignorance stung the most)

so it seems leaving hurts
more than being left because
i will spend every waking second
wondering if you would have left if
you could have, and you will
find a new coat to wear next winter
while i watch from the window.