The right to be wrong
He once said to me, "C'mon T, if we both made a list of all the things we've done for each other because of how much we cared, we both know it'd be a f--king long list."
It shut me up then.
And now my only reponse is poetry, my sole weapon against his endless tirade of nicely-packaged words with no substance or sincerity.
The only right I am entitled
Is the right to be wrong
About you
I misplaced a dozen hopes
And flew a hundred seas
For you
Your inconsistent charity
Crossed all borders of propriety
And I could never make you see
The way you are hurting me
So why do I bother to ask him how he is doing (carefully worded in Japanese because I know it's the only way to guarantee a response) when he has made it clear that I am no longer part of his world?
Why is it so much easier to see predict a heartbreak when it's not your own?
Some days are just harder.
Labels: confession, love, poetry, tokyo
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