All the time I thought she couldn't notice.
Couldn't.
Couldn't.
Wouldn't.
How often did I think about her knowing about it? About 1 (2,3) times? Not enough.
4 (5,6) times? Still not enough.
When I think back to our past - yours and mine, us together - I guess I didn't even contemplate that she could - would - know about us.
And now when I'm thinking about it, I'm quite sure she knew. Quite sure she suffered from it. Of course she did. She did not say anything.
And I hope, for you, not for him, that you will be brave enough to stand up and say something.
And at this point, I want to say sorry for one last time, wanting to know you that whenever I said sorry, I meant it. I won't ever try to steal your man again. I'm sorry, and that's it, finally.
- Forgiving.
YOU ARE READING
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PoetrySome poems about someone who didn't know how love me right, how I, myself, didn't know how to love me right, how I lost & finally found myself again.
