You left me so very empty, grasping at loose ends and trying to make amends.
Can I commend you, on your coldness that makes ice look lukewarm?
I once thought you warm, hands so alive they moved of their own accord, a mind of their own. The droning of days meant nothing in the animation of your hands.
I think ours was a short, whirlwind romance where half days meant half years. I said I love you too soon and I shouldn’t have.
Falling in love…second only to worship. Maybe that was the problem, maybe I was becoming too worshipful. I prayed for release, to see your face filled with forgiveness and the relief that comes with, “It’s okay.”
Instead, I was blessed with blisters from catching fire…whether from desire or anger, I’ll never know. You rewarded me with ripples of rage silenced with the bitter cold. And I still wanted to love you.
I loved you…once.
But you never loved me, despite those texted less than three, three, three’s. <333. You <333 me, do you?
But that isn’t love, is it?
You pursued me through forest and concrete, but I guess your lust brought me to your eyes…and I saw disgust.
Was it for you or me, those three, three, three little mistakes…? Like a stake to the heart…
You burned once, I burned, we both did…and that was the end of it.
I wanted to love you. I did.
However, all this attempt to mend leads only to endings because you only told me lies.
I dreamt of white dresses because of you, the fullness of children and missions…
One cold shoulder out the dire dank door and you were lost to me.
I tried begging and pulling you through, threading prayers like needles into the pieces that were us. It was all in vain.
I don’t know if I’ll miss you, but I’m at peace. At piece. At peace.