You told me to stop loving you. That you had no way to love me back. That I was too much, too soon. And I said “OK.”
What I meant was “How?”
We were beautiful.resplendent in love. You brought me back to poetry and the meaning of words that I had so long ago forgotten.
You took my hand and walked me to the bottom of my soul and stood there until I had told you everything. Every single detail.
You purified my prose with fire.
You said the words “love” and “forever” like we had created them together.
You made me remember things I had long since forgotten: Desire. Longing. Infatuation.
Concepts that had become as abstract to me as the shape of the stars.
You gave them to me like pennies. Almost useless, but quantifiable.
You picked up my soul and dusted it off, shined it until it sparkled again and then
You, disgusted by what you had created, released it into the night.
I know that there is life after you. Songs and stars and love.
But what I don’t know, what I can’t understand is how.
How can you take me, so guarded and safe, and destroy me so effortlessly?
I was broken, yes, as we all break with time, but I was OK. I had forgotten the songs that lovers sing, the pretty words they say. How can you teach them to me just to take them away?
I hope I served a purpose to you. Fulfilled some dream of yours or flattered your sense of self.
Because all you managed to do for me was leave me on fire with no water in sight.
Should I thank you for waking me up or curse you for not letting me sleep?
It doesn’t matter now. You’ve chosen not to matter now. So, I am moving on. Without you, but never alone.
Haunted by ghosts of beautiful things.
I hope you have dreams that come true, a life worth living and that it never rains on your birthday.
I love you. But I will never mention it again.