Bloody and Bandaged the Blood seeps through. I can not hide it anymore.

As I sit here and think of you. I dream of what I thought we could have. I recall my love for you. I recall my sacrifices. I can’t even think of sleep. I’m not even tired. I hear a bird chirping and I have yet to crawl into bed. I open the blinds and I see a new day starting. The sky behind the hills is beginning to shine in a brilliant pink. I listen to the little robin outside my window. It tells me I was not wrong. It tells me that your heart wasn’t in it in the first place. I realize how stupid I was to ignore your hints. I think I knew about her all along. I just didn’t want to believe it. The bird flies away and I stare at the sky, as it lights up, in disbelief. As the sun rises and warms my face a thought dawns on me. She thought all along we were just friends. She thought you were all alone. She didn’t know about me, you told her we were just friends. My thoughts are now in a race with the sun. Through your confusion you added her to the twist. I know that you have been talking to her for almost a year. You hid her from me so you could pursue something with her. I’m hurt and I’m ashamed that I never noticed. I was a tool. I was a stepping stone. As I watched the two of you together I had nothing but hate for myself. I could have died right there and not put up a fight. Yet. . . . . . yet here I sit nearly six hours later and realize you’ve talked with her, bonded with her, and loved her all along. And it pains me to think of how stupid I was. Stupid to give my heart to someone who didn’t have what it took to hold it. It will be a long time before I can trust another person to hold my heart because I will have a fear of what that person is hiding from me. Everyone has a secret. She just happened to be yours.
The sun has risen, I feel the dew on my face. I wrap myself up and wonder back inside. Able to live with myself again. Able to breathe again. Able to feel again. I can feel my heart. I feel my heart in my hands. My hands covered in blood. My own blood. Its an open wound. Open and raw. Raw from the vigorous cleaning I put it through. Hoping. . . . . hoping I could make it look inviting to you. But now I wrap it. The bandage soaked in my blood. I tuck it away. I try to hide it. But the blood seeps through again. It will heal one day. But there will always be a scar. A scar that you put there. And it will always . . . . always . . . remind me of you.