17 & Only

You used to read them, claiming they gave you an insight into the girl psyche.
So where was the instruction manual, the walk through booklet to your mind that if I would’ve read it, I would’ve saw all your thoughts of her?
All the truths you hid from me, that came tumbling out once you said you were no longer in love with me…
And I’m not bitter,
Because karma is a…
Well, you know;
And you must adapt to her,
As you never could to me
As you never wanted to be the we we were,
The we I wanted when I turned 17.
The we, where there was no her,
No this,
Just us and that was enough…
Maybe,
Maybe that was the biggest lie of all,
That you were living to the point of almost,
And we were loving to the point of almost,
Until you realized,
Until I realized,
Almost is never enough
Where was the novel written to let me get a glance into our future?
How did our encyclopedia of a relationship dwindle to a sentence in a month’s time?
Do you miss me?
I still want to know.
And I don’t hate you.
I think you ought to know.
Magazines upon magazines sit in my bathroom, with more gossip columns and love drama.
Who will understand me through the written webs of bubblegum nonsense?
Who will know me by the folded corner of the last article I read?
Why wasn’t there a cipher to let me see inside your head?

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