Leaving

So, for lack of a better title, I decided to go with the simple and straightforward. I guess you could call this piece a spoken word. Call it what you may, here it is.

Could I go?
I've done it before.
This pattern of leaving is nothing new.
I really should leave.
Keep the flow; don't prolong the inevitable.
But his voice, so sweet
Begging, "Baby please don't go. If I wake up tomorrow will you still be here?"
Will I?
I could be gone, out of here, with no trace but memories in two days flat.
Yet he still pleads, "Let's get out of this town tonight."
It's the "let's" again.
But. Isn't he part of why I need to go?
I know better.
I've learned this lesson.
You can't get attached, because as soon as you do, it will be yanked from your grasp.
So why am I letting myself fall?
And even worse, head over heels.
"Should've known better than that."
I did know better. I do know better.
So why did I let myself slip?
Why did I let myself love?
I'm supposed to be, no, to survive, I have to "be so heartless."
Even though, deep down, where in secret I let myself feel, my greatest weakness of all,
I'm.
Hurt.
I'm.
Sad.
And I...
Cry.