I am afraid of my own mind.

My mind is telling me you are a murderer.

You are cold. Cruel. You don't care. You never cared. You pick up the pieces that I left behind on purpose and hand them over. (I took them in.) You remind me of everything I wish I could be, everything I could have been. But if only.

You tell me things will get better. You tell me this from the things you never say. You let me believe I could one day sit in your passenger seat. We could attend weddings together. During the wedding someone would sing a song. And the song would remind me of the things we've been through; will go through. But if only.

If only you weren't a murderer. If only you weren't murdered. If only you've never showed me who I can be, if only you've never made me realize how big I am, if only you've never changed me, then nothing. Then gone. Then no one to say goodnight to. Then eyes drifting aimlessly on train rides home. Then this.