Keepsakes

Tell me those looks were empty.

It was an unspoken thing between us, but we never really got around to sorting things out. Between the stress and the false promises, being with you was actually something I used to look forward to. We shared looks—like messages sent through undisturbed channels.

Tell me those looks were empty.

I swear I could’ve felt your stare touch my skin. Your gaze was something like a weapon: sharp enough to cut, yet dull enough to make me believe in a fantasy. When our paths crossed, it felt like a scene pulled straight from one of your lovey-dovey books. It made me believe in fairy tales. Butterflies flew from my stomach to my mouth, mind you.

Tell me those looks were empty.

Cameras caught us with our hands on the smalls of each other’s backs, and that was the closest I’ve ever been to you. I swear I felt something in your touch.

Now you swear to me that those looks were empty—because I haven’t felt anything real in the past few years.

I wish you knew how much I loved you. I wish you cared enough to know.

I’m sorry this is all about you.

The pressure of confession from someone you used to know.