Three Reasons

You told me to call you if anything was bad.

You told me you’d be there, no matter what time it was,

You told me you’d pick up the phone.

 

But you don’t understand that I don’t want you to.

But you don’t understand that I’m afraid to call.

But you don’t understand that what I’m afraid of is that you’ll pick up.

 

That you’ll answer right away and ask what’s wrong.

That you’ll ask me to tell you what happened.

That you’ll tell me to stop what I’m doing.

 

Because what I’m doing is wrong.

Because what I’m doing is destructive.

Because what I’m doing is fucked up.

 

I don’t want to hear that from you.

I don’t want you to even know I still do it.

I don’t want you to be even more disappointed in me.

 

I know that you would be, I’ve seen it before.

I know that you wouldn’t understand why I continue, when I can talk to you.

I know that you would be angry at me, fed-up.

 

You’ll never understand why I do it.

You’ll never be able to talk me down from it.

You’ll never be the one I talk to about this.

 

I love you for being my friend, and being there for me.

I love you for not freaking out about it when I told you.

I love you for not deserting me afterwards.

 

But I hate that it took that for you to make the effort.

But I hate that you ask about it every time we talk.

But I hate that look you give me over the computer screen.

 

Most of all, it hurts for me that you know.

Most of all, it makes me sad to know what will come next.

Most of all, it’s just painful to remember what happened.

 

There were no reasons to tell you my secret.

There were no reasons for you to tell them my secret.

There were no reasons to confide in you about them.

There were no reasons.

Not really.

But,

There kind of were.

Maybe just a few;

Just three.

 

Three reasons to tell you what happened.

Three reasons to do what I did.

Three reasons to never stop when I did it all.