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Writing inspired by the following Sunday Writers’ Club prompt:

How can you make them believe that you miss them more than they miss you?

How Can You Make Them Believe That You Miss Them More Than They Miss You?

by Cristina Colamonici

The bigger the feeling, the deeper the wound, the scarier the scar… the sharper the words. 

First, in my head.

After, on the paper. 

But on my lips? Never.

So I wrote. Everything. 

The good and the bad. 

Due to your choices, mostly the bad. Due to my talent, my work at its best.

The words that your selfishness and immaturity, but mostly inability to choose happiness, inspired me reached the levels of modern poetry.

I should have probably thanked you for this, but I couldn’t, so I wrote.

Any time I learned something new about your life without me, I wrote. 

Any time something as small as unexpected, such as a scent or a sock, reminded me of you, I wrote.

Any time I needed you, I wrote. 

Any time I felt like you needed me, I wrote. 

Any time I missed you and cursed you for it, I wrote. 

With all the muted words you left me with I wrote a book. 

I should publish it and get rich, but I’d rather throw it on your head from the top of my building, just to show you how much it hurts.