I am the speck in your mind, so insignificant and unimaginatively city boy you don’t even dare care about me. I am the dust that settles when you leave, and behind you leaving your trails of tears in your yellow boots did you never look back, or even text to ask if I’m going to make it. The truth is the less I think about you the less I hurt. The less I hurt the more I can function, and if I can function I guess I’ll be okay. On the days I imagine us laying in my bed I kick myself in the head only because I should’ve just let you have the bed and slept on my own ground. If I could change that I’d sleep in dirt, drunk, fallen off my roof, I’d have to explain that in the morning. I’m not sure what you wanted, if you cared or even if I still permeate in your brain. I am the speckled shit in the air that you’re circulating in your lungs and eventually breathing out. I’m not forever, because I’m shifting and changing and no matter how much I conform, interact or show care and affection in my messed up, weird fucking delusional head, I’m still the speck left unspoken to. It wasn’t ever about being forever, or bonded, it was just an experience, one that breaks me in small cracks and splinters because I know I fucked up, I know how I am, and I know how much that isn’t anywhere close to what I intend. I’ve learned that I don’t need pity, and honestly I’m sure I never wanted it, I never cared about how people feel towards me, I just wanted to be aware that I wasn’t that little speck anymore, that I am in someone’s mind, because it’s a sad and lonely world out there, and it’s nice to be thought of, even if it’s bad.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.