Clearly, the pressure had built up.

It hurts so deep, this longing that gnaws.
I bargained with my creator, pleaded for a way,
a way to rid him from my thoughts,
to quiet the echo of his existence in my mind.

I’ve gazed at this moment from every angle,
searching for an escape that never quite comes.
When frustration clouds my soul,
I reach for gratitude like a lifeline—
but even that stings.
I hate the way thankfulness taints the pain,
how I curse the blessing of knowing him,
only to have it ripped away in an instant,
a gift I destroyed with my own hands.

I begged to never speak again,
but now silence feels like a prison,
each breath a reminder of the torment I live with daily.
I chase distractions like fleeting shadows,
exhausted by the effort to outrun my thoughts.

Yet, through this storm, I cannot ignore
the truth that drips from the cracks of my heart:
that I was seen, held in the highest regard by a stranger,
gifted with patience that I could not have imagined.
And respect.
Oh, the respect—
it haunts me, lingers in my chest like a ghost
I can’t release.

I fight against spilling my feelings,
shoving them deep within,
yet the pressure builds,
my heart aching,
until I can’t hold it in any longer.
And still, every time the image of what could have been rises,
I whisper,
“Please, just make him vanish from my mind.”