I died a bit inside.
When every time I walked by,
You’d look down.
Or turn the other way.

I died inside;
when I realized,
looking at me hurt you.
that what I did
gave you emotions
that you hid.

It killed me,
the discomfort I saw,
in the way you stand.
it killed me,
when I touched your hand.
Your response was to pull away.

I had hurt you,
in every possible way.
and now there’s nothing
nothing that I could say.
all because
I treated you that way.