The Art of Falling Out of Love
by Abigail Beane
Phase one:
You're a liar. You lied over and over and I'm stuck here wondering where I went wrong. Where did I go wrong?
And while you were well on your way, I was begging you to move on.
And I understand that I hurt you but God damn. I say I'm okay and I feel okay because misery loves company and I've become accustomed to the constant suffering triggered by the endless reminders of you.
And every time I smoke, I think of you and for a second I feel like I'm going to throw up or pass out and then I remember your own fucking words, " Have fun killing yourself with that cancer stick." Another drag, while a smile plays on my bloody, cracked lips and I'm thinking, "Oh baby, I will."
Sometimes I dream of you, other times I'm trying not to think of you or how guilty I feel for for falling for you or hurting you. I feel bad about all of it.
You're always on my mind these days.
Please leave me alone.
Phase Two:
She wasn't wrong you know. She said she'd rather stay and make it work because even though looking at him now brought up bad memories and it hurt like hell because she couldn't trust him, losing him would've been worse.
And that made me think of you. I can't deny that I hurt you but damn. I was never as bad as you made me out to be.
And this wouldn't be the time to say it's all in your head because that's how you feel and your feelings are valid. Sometimes I feel like I should yell at you because I wish you'd understand that my feelings matter too.
I hope you know that I never meant to hurt you and then you got to thinking. You demonized me like I was going on with my life to spite you. Like I hurt you over and over. Purposefully.
And I know I hurt you because that is how you feel so I can't say that I did not.
I can say sorry and although I couldn't find the words to express how sorry I am, I'd mean it every damn time.
And I'm the one sitting here inhaling smoke, begging you to treat me like a human while you make me feel like a walking, talking, too alive burden.
That's where a line is drawn and crossed.
The line that was blurred because I was drunk on the idea that you could grow up because I know you are hurt and I'm only trying to keep quiet as I watch you play the victim like some broken record stuck on a loop. Back and forth. Back and forth.
You love me but I destroyed you.
And I'm only human. You claim you're terrified to fall in love because my flaws hurt you. I'm terrified to fall in love because I am flawed. We both wanted it to work but, ultimately, I am flawed. And you couldn't make your peace with that. But you swore you would, and I knew you wanted to. But then it was too hard.
I'm terrified to fall in love because you fought like hell for me and my heart and soul were on your side, but you still lost.
So stop telling me about how I hurt you, because I'm fucking falling apart. Stop telling me how impossible it is to love me because I saw your bloody hands that only meant to touch my too sharp soul, and trust me. I fucking know.
You're not the one who has to face the guilt every day.
You're not the one who hurts people simply by being.
So stop reminding me that it's all my fault because I think about it every damn second. And it’s killing me.
Phase Three
I'm tired of being here, sitting pretty. Impossible for you to love. I want to hate you. God! I want to so bad. That would be easier than knowing. Understanding. Hating myself for it all the same.
I love you. I love you so much. I just wish it was past tense.
I light a cigarette and I hear your voice telling me to have fun killing myself with that cancer stick. And my tired rebellious mind says, "I will" but it was 10 a.m. when I wanted another one, chuckling lamely because you equated addiction to love and it was 10:15 when the feeling subsided. And at 11:06 I was hoping a clock wouldn't sneak into my vision for the next ten minutes. It always did. At 11:11 I wished for endless sleep. At 11:12 I realized that would mean I was alive and breathing and still not good enough for you.
That’s when I started fantasizing about how much closer everything brought me to death.
And I'm not saying I want to die because I don’t. All I'm saying is that I'm sick of how things are and I really don’t mind that I'm as temporary as the memory of you is permanent, because one day it'll be over.
One day I'll be crossing the street, cigarette in hand, mind on you and it'll just end.
Or maybe I'll go in my sleep, dreaming of the thing I was before I was so empty.
I'm not sad. I'm not depressed. I'm not lonely. I'm just here. Day in, day out, trying to deal with all this anger and heartbreak because god damn it, I don't have it in me to hate you and the thought of you makes me sick to my stomach.
Everything about who you're pretending to be makes me feel a lot of different kinds of bad and the thing is, I'm tired of who you are now tainting something that meant so much to me not that long ago.
But one day, it will end.
Phase Four
It will fade fast and I'll get so tired if holding on and just like that, you'll slip through my fingers and like any responsible person I'll wash away the remnants of you with lukewarm water. I'll dry my ivory skin with the luxury of a better tomorrow. And then I will smoke and I will smoke a lot. Simply for the high because this time I did not think of you once.
And when I'm ready to write again, it will be sewn with the thread of all the words the broken hearted need to hear. And maybe I'll call it "The Art of falling out of love."
Because, as the story goes, I woke up today and everything hurt less and this poem turned to shit because I never meant to want this all to end. This life. With or without you.
And I'm just saying that my words won't drip with longing or heart ache anymore. So please understand, my heart is no longer in it if it's about you. One day your name will be like all the rest. Completely obsolete. Used to mean a hell of a lot more.
Today, tomorrow and always I'll love you, But I'm finally falling out of love and I honestly feel liberated. I can breathe again. So in a way I guess this as close to closure as it gets.
And I'm finally okay with that.
Final Phase:
Here's to first loves, first heart breaks and for the love of God finally falling out of love.
by Abigail Beane
Phase one:
You're a liar. You lied over and over and I'm stuck here wondering where I went wrong. Where did I go wrong?
And while you were well on your way, I was begging you to move on.
And I understand that I hurt you but God damn. I say I'm okay and I feel okay because misery loves company and I've become accustomed to the constant suffering triggered by the endless reminders of you.
And every time I smoke, I think of you and for a second I feel like I'm going to throw up or pass out and then I remember your own fucking words, " Have fun killing yourself with that cancer stick." Another drag, while a smile plays on my bloody, cracked lips and I'm thinking, "Oh baby, I will."
Sometimes I dream of you, other times I'm trying not to think of you or how guilty I feel for for falling for you or hurting you. I feel bad about all of it.
You're always on my mind these days.
Please leave me alone.
Phase Two:
She wasn't wrong you know. She said she'd rather stay and make it work because even though looking at him now brought up bad memories and it hurt like hell because she couldn't trust him, losing him would've been worse.
And that made me think of you. I can't deny that I hurt you but damn. I was never as bad as you made me out to be.
And this wouldn't be the time to say it's all in your head because that's how you feel and your feelings are valid. Sometimes I feel like I should yell at you because I wish you'd understand that my feelings matter too.
I hope you know that I never meant to hurt you and then you got to thinking. You demonized me like I was going on with my life to spite you. Like I hurt you over and over. Purposefully.
And I know I hurt you because that is how you feel so I can't say that I did not.
I can say sorry and although I couldn't find the words to express how sorry I am, I'd mean it every damn time.
And I'm the one sitting here inhaling smoke, begging you to treat me like a human while you make me feel like a walking, talking, too alive burden.
That's where a line is drawn and crossed.
The line that was blurred because I was drunk on the idea that you could grow up because I know you are hurt and I'm only trying to keep quiet as I watch you play the victim like some broken record stuck on a loop. Back and forth. Back and forth.
You love me but I destroyed you.
And I'm only human. You claim you're terrified to fall in love because my flaws hurt you. I'm terrified to fall in love because I am flawed. We both wanted it to work but, ultimately, I am flawed. And you couldn't make your peace with that. But you swore you would, and I knew you wanted to. But then it was too hard.
I'm terrified to fall in love because you fought like hell for me and my heart and soul were on your side, but you still lost.
So stop telling me about how I hurt you, because I'm fucking falling apart. Stop telling me how impossible it is to love me because I saw your bloody hands that only meant to touch my too sharp soul, and trust me. I fucking know.
You're not the one who has to face the guilt every day.
You're not the one who hurts people simply by being.
So stop reminding me that it's all my fault because I think about it every damn second. And it’s killing me.
Phase Three
I'm tired of being here, sitting pretty. Impossible for you to love. I want to hate you. God! I want to so bad. That would be easier than knowing. Understanding. Hating myself for it all the same.
I love you. I love you so much. I just wish it was past tense.
I light a cigarette and I hear your voice telling me to have fun killing myself with that cancer stick. And my tired rebellious mind says, "I will" but it was 10 a.m. when I wanted another one, chuckling lamely because you equated addiction to love and it was 10:15 when the feeling subsided. And at 11:06 I was hoping a clock wouldn't sneak into my vision for the next ten minutes. It always did. At 11:11 I wished for endless sleep. At 11:12 I realized that would mean I was alive and breathing and still not good enough for you.
That’s when I started fantasizing about how much closer everything brought me to death.
And I'm not saying I want to die because I don’t. All I'm saying is that I'm sick of how things are and I really don’t mind that I'm as temporary as the memory of you is permanent, because one day it'll be over.
One day I'll be crossing the street, cigarette in hand, mind on you and it'll just end.
Or maybe I'll go in my sleep, dreaming of the thing I was before I was so empty.
I'm not sad. I'm not depressed. I'm not lonely. I'm just here. Day in, day out, trying to deal with all this anger and heartbreak because god damn it, I don't have it in me to hate you and the thought of you makes me sick to my stomach.
Everything about who you're pretending to be makes me feel a lot of different kinds of bad and the thing is, I'm tired of who you are now tainting something that meant so much to me not that long ago.
But one day, it will end.
Phase Four
It will fade fast and I'll get so tired if holding on and just like that, you'll slip through my fingers and like any responsible person I'll wash away the remnants of you with lukewarm water. I'll dry my ivory skin with the luxury of a better tomorrow. And then I will smoke and I will smoke a lot. Simply for the high because this time I did not think of you once.
And when I'm ready to write again, it will be sewn with the thread of all the words the broken hearted need to hear. And maybe I'll call it "The Art of falling out of love."
Because, as the story goes, I woke up today and everything hurt less and this poem turned to shit because I never meant to want this all to end. This life. With or without you.
And I'm just saying that my words won't drip with longing or heart ache anymore. So please understand, my heart is no longer in it if it's about you. One day your name will be like all the rest. Completely obsolete. Used to mean a hell of a lot more.
Today, tomorrow and always I'll love you, But I'm finally falling out of love and I honestly feel liberated. I can breathe again. So in a way I guess this as close to closure as it gets.
And I'm finally okay with that.
Final Phase:
Here's to first loves, first heart breaks and for the love of God finally falling out of love.
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