good riddance

guess, we'll see

Am I at fault,
incessantly?

Was it my fault,
as always?

Should I have learned the lesson
when the curtains were shut?
Should I have backed off
when my feelings were hurt?

I was parched, surrounded by blaze,
yet I learned to grow sideways.

Falling, failing—
I know it well,
like the lines in my palm,
patterns deciding my chaos and calm.

So I was cautious,
watching my steps,
looking to the side and back,
startled at every tap—
worse than a sacrificial lamb.
And I was so sure
if I went that way,
I’d be damned.

I was aware—
too much.
It’s not that I never cared.

It’s just
I knew the ending without touching the book.
Horror-struck, I didn’t even dare to look.
As much as I wanted to be loved,
the what-ifs, the fear of abandonment—
steps I couldn’t took.
Your arrival, my whole life shook.

I cared too much for the its and bits;
my love doesn’t come with a clause.
Though, good riddance—I was
requested to scram.
But baby, that’s how I raised myself,
that’s who I am.

Maybe—possibly—
it was never up to me.
The sun set quietly
that day too.
Your joke—or maybe the truth—
“Not meeting even in the next life with you.”
I hope my presence was golden
in your life full of blues.