if he never loved me, i don't think it mattered.
i think i still would have remained with the pieces shattered.
& now i find myself asking a room full of air reaking the presence of forgotten love, why mourn something you couldn't mend?
i do not intend
to struggle too hard to find the answer to this stupefying question.
& here.. is a confession,
laid out thru torn, tear streaked pages - maybe i wasn't in love with he but the idea of being loved by someone
and now that it's over and done
this emptiness i feel inside
is because i cannot provide
myself with the kind of love he provided me with - even if conditional
and oftentimes so full
of loopholes that it'd make the most coniving seem like angels.
i've taken a look at this thru every known angle
and i see exactly where it fell apart.
but i do not see how it comes to this wet pillow and broken heart.
& now i feel the loss of focus coming about behind the streaming of tears,
behind the feeling of an old way beyond my years.
i can't look, don't wanna see
because if i look i'll see me.
weak and unyielding to a love waited on for some time,
ready to drop all at the drop of a dime
if only able to hear that someone "loves me"
& that this time "things will turn out differently".