I will begin with a truth: I loved you so much it tasted foul in my mouth.
It felt like bile rising up my throat. I loved you so much in so many ways in for so many reasons and I waited and I loved. I loved you like I knew what to do and I didn’t, still don’t know, still do love you, somehow.
I am thankful for it, in some way.
Loving you and not being loved back
makes a person do things,
makes them learn
how to write heartbreakingly real poetry about love and not loving
and fingers touching the small of backs
and hoping they’d stay there. They won’t.
They find the rest of me even when you don’t
and I will keep all of that forever, for the rest of my life.
I will find it stowed away on the bottom bedside drawer
beneath catalogs and receipts and I will remember
that I loved you and it will hurt all. over. again.
And god, I will never find it in myself to blame you;
I am not easy to love. I am not easy to see.
I forgive you, even if you didn’t do anything wrong.
Yes. I will love you again.