On my way home, I hoped that every passing car out on the road was you. Catching up to tell me something resembling the truth. But you haven't even said you're sorry yet - so instead, would you tell me this?
Did you hesitate on your way through the door? On your way home, did you make peace with everything that you'd done wrong, or did you decide that it was my fault all along? Did you think of me when you left the jewelry I gave you there on purpose? As if you needed a clever reason to return.
Did you hesitate on your way through the door, or did it make you feel more alive? Or less responsible this time for what you left behind? Will you think of me when all the guilt builds a home in all your good days? Did it make you feel more alive, or left behind?
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