It was the last time.
Perhaps the best time.
The best time for me to talk to you.
But I didn't. I didn't feel the need to.
You broke me down so many times,
that talking to you didn't make much sense.
Trying to make me mad was laughable.
I saw that you only held his hand when I was around.
I've taken what life has given me,
all the ups and downs and in-betweens.
And I found out that love,
isn't as reclusive as you make it seem.
There are people who care about the real me,
the real person I am.
Strange isn't it that people,
would love me for who I am.
So when you think about me,
in all these years to come,
I hope you think about me,
not the person you made out of bad dreams.
That person only exists in your bad dreams now,
but he once existed.
Because one way or the other,
I am who I am.
And one way or the other,
you are who you are.
There is no person like the image you made for me,
because he died when I let go of the pain,
and began to pray again.
Peace,
Beebes