Love,
Four letters,
if used wisely,
could mean nothing less
than everything.
Love,
A broad term,
that only means as much as you let it.
And here what I allowed love to mean to me.
My love,
what I know of love,
is you.
You were warm,
as a shelter.
A home,
to escape to,
when it gets too loud,
too chaotic.
You were the peace within the madness.
The quiet within the endless echoes.
You were where my heart settled,
where my heart beat steadied.
Love,
you were sweet,
and gentle.
You carried my heart with such grace.
You feared for it,
from you,
and from the harshness of this world.
You held on to it,
not too tightly,
enough to savor it
without suffocating it.
You knew of love,
and made sure I knew of it too.
But no matter how much you gave me,
or showed me,
I seem to have never understood
what it is
that love was to you.
And you seem to never have understood
what it is
that love was to me.
Love,
a word I carefully whispered,
with every meaning the word could hold,
my love.
Love,
a word that you used so recklessly.
And at such a juncture,
the home I found collapsed.
I, cold, and unsheltered.
I, have lost my sweet escape.
YOU ARE READING
Behind Her Eyes: A Collection of Poetry.
PoetryHere are my words, thoughts, and most importantly, all the feelings I burry. I've finally gathered the courage to share them, and to share a part of me. Here are the thoughts that visit me through the night put into words; of all there is to fee...
