i had my words, but i couldnt find them sometimes, and sometimes they seemed too honest or too revealing, harmful and for that reason omitted, and sometimes i just wanted to keep them all to myself as the only things i really can keep with me until the very end. the words were my birds and i cut their wings so they will never fly, the words were my flowers that i hid from the sun so they will not bloom.
i felt exposed. i felt naked. i felt like if i show all my words, they will be gone, too, and i will be left, vulnerable, i will be left with my own hands, empty. sometimes my words rioted, so i pretended i cant control them, so they could run off from me, like wild children exploring, trying, tasting the waters.
i was so ashamed of them some days. i said i dont feel anything, nothing is happening to me, so i have nothing to say, i have no words, and i kept saying it. because all my runaway words were left unnoticed, left cold in the ditches, swiped under the rug like a dust.
and thats how i became like this, how i ended alone with my words, and i still feel like you took something from me, you took my certainty that i did the right thing. in the end, you left, and still took everything, even some of my words - you took all the bad ones, you took what i am not proud of, you took my pity, and you looked right at it.