Useless

You don't cry: that's the worst part. And I thought about it. I think you forgot how, along with other things. That's why you want to find him. You want it back. Everything he took from you, every part of you he took when he left. You don't cry. Not when it's hard or it hurts or it's sad. You can only smile. And I can't cry, or I would. For you. For us. Is ours the same story? The same plot with different details? I understand you. I understand why you smile and why I don't. We lost. And lost. And were left. And left. Alone. All alone. But you chose to smile and I chose to hide. You don't cry. Your face should be wet, your cheek… should hold tears, not bend to your smile, tears so I can wipe them off and find something better to do with my hands. Better than killing and making other people lose. And lose. It's not fair. But neither is life. Neither is love. I regrouped, I drew back, I have people to love again, and what about you? You say you're useless, you said it to me, me who loves you, me who could never place that word on you. Me. Me who couldn't say anything while you smiled, smiled and didn't cry. Useless. Useless, you said and smiled. Where were the tears? They're in my hands and I can't put them on your cheek. Useless. My hands… Useless. That's what he told you. That's when he lied. He lied. You are not useless: I am. I stole your tears and your smile, not he, and I can't even tell you I love you. Useless, like an empty smile but not like tears.