Why Can't I CBT Like You?

[Bunni'sLullaby]

It was me to the very end.
Me; not anyone else.
Must I live with this? (Do I deserve it?)
And, maybe, that's what love is--or can be.
You (and I) are there, from
Beginning to end,
Past to future,
Whether you care to admit it or not,
Despite how much you,
How much I,
Bled together like an oil painting in the rain.
When you are gone, really gone,
Then What?
Remember, you're gone. You're lost.
I'm gone. I'm lost.
I (you) don't recognize myself (yourself) in my (your) reflection.

There is only you.
There only ever was.
I feel every day, I endure the pain that is possibly
Best for you (for me).
But survival instinct,
Social-biological necessity to connect, survive,
Persists.

But why stay miserable for the sake of others?
I swear, I can feel the sting of the blade,
The blade of past, present, and future, even
When it is not truly there.

Forsake me, grant me
the same fate (I hope)
Peaceful, quick (I hope)
Quick like how my fingers feel they may bleed
Because I haven't written in so long,
Since before your leaving
This time is not the same--it's gone;
The way my hands cramp,
The tendons as they tense
Just as they did that day,
When I opened that door,
That version of you that should have stayed private.
But, whether you, as always, cared to admit,
It was me to very end.
Me; not anyone else.
Must I live with this? (Do I deserve it?)
And, maybe, that's what love is--or can be.
You (and I) are there, from
Beginning to end,
Past to future,
Whether you care to admit it or not,
Despite how much you,
How much I,
Bled together like an oil painting in the rain.
When you are gone, really gone,
Then What?
Remember, you're gone. You're lost.
I'm gone. You're lost.
I (you) don't recognize myself (yourself) in my (your) reflection.

There is only you.
There only ever was.
I feel every day, I endure the pain that is possibly
Best for you.
But survival instinct,
Social-biological necessity to connect, survive,
Persists.

But why stay miserable for the sake of others?
I swear, I can't feel the sting of the blade,
The blade of past, present, and future, even
When it is not truly there.

Forsake me, grant me
the same fate (I hope)
Peaceful, quick (I hope)
Quick like how my finger feel they may bleed
Because I haven't written in so long,
Since before you're leaving
This time is not the same--it's gone;
The way my hands cramp,
The tendons as they they tense
Just as they did that day,
When I opened that door,
That version of you that should have stayed private.
But, whether you, as always, cared to admit,

There I was,
Beginning, middle, and, end, (and beyond).
Despite the last words you said to me,
I remember you telling me:
"I just want you to know I love you."

Was I blind?
I'm sorry.
Did you know?
I should have.