you always hated goodbyes. and i always hated you for never saying them.

we were always unfinished business, like an incomplete sentence - never a period, always a semicolon; you'd come and you'd leave your mark in every inch of my world, then without warning or farewell, you'd walk away. and i kept telling you that i wanted you gone, that i wanted you to never return. you'd tell me that you hated coming here anyway, and that i'd never see your face again.

but you never said goodbye, and maybe that was the reason you kept coming back. traces of you were always etched into my skin, and traces of me were always burned into yours. so you kept coming back, because i needed more of you, and because you needed more of me. and oh god, i hated how you'd come and run your calloused hands down my bare skin, making sure to leave your marks, making sure that i wouldn't be able to ever shake you off. you'd whisper lies into my ear and touch me in ways that made me hate my own skin. and then you'd walk away and i'd keep screaming at you "goodbye. goodbye. goodbye." but you would never reply. you refused to set me free.

but maybe i liked that. maybe i wanted you to never say goodbye. maybe i was fine with letting you tear me apart over and over again without an ounce of mercy. because when you finally did say goodbye, i couldn't breathe.