I have a question.
A desperate plead for answers to a question I'm not sure I want the answer to.
To a question I'm not sure I can take the answer to.
So here it is.
Take it gently, don't mock the naïve parts of me that should know better.
Why did you leave?
Was I not good enough for you?
I'm sorry I ever though I could be your special because
I should have known better.
Better.
That's what you say you've found in her, right?
A better combination of genetic variation and personality than the little girl that I am.
I don't understand why you did this to me.
I gave you all of me, the little pieces.
Those little pieces no one else got to see.
I let you in
in hopes that you'd fall in love with me, all the little pieces.
But they weren't good enough, were they.
You found something better in her,
that I know.
But why were you looking in the first place?
It's just a question I'm telling myself I can take the answer to.
But it wouldn't be the first time
I've lied.