Anything but Me

I wouldn't dream of it, you know?

Each little crystal that tore open my eyes when the slightest reminder of you donned on me, only whispered tales of your well-being.
You know how it is; I listen to a song, and my heart cries. It bleeds over the lyrics and sings along with hiccups and red eyes. I feel sore.

I am so tired of being a regret.
Do you know what that's like? To save someone's life one day and be the only thing holding them down the other? To know at some point of your life, your past with someone held so much, you were sure it worked at as a placenta to a fetus?
To know you're just not the person they loved, anymore?

You think you have it all.
Everyone has that point and you go, "It just doesn't get any better than this," even though secretly, you want it to. And pretty soon you realize one thing:
Today is as good as it gets.

If you're lucky, it might change. And if you're not, it's okay. Something's always changing, and it'll be bound to change for you like a chain reaction of circumstances.

My past is like a stack of delicate, explicit dominoes.
You get me talking like a child about her favourite colour. And it pushes one little cuboid, that leads to another and another..
...and then you know me. Inside and out.
Because I never stop.

And I keep going til the language I was born to speak ends, and I need to new one to tell you more.
I can't stop being me around you.

Truth is, I never could. And I am too fragmented to make sense or stand up right now.
I know I'm strong, you never let me forget it. And I never should either.
But I can't help being me and bringing all the shards of the me someone else broke with rheumy, wounded eyes to you because you have a way with jigsaw puzzles. And the soul that you somehow know without knowing.

I wouldn't dream of it, you know? I cannot be anything but me, to you now.