Loved is how she must've of felt when you knelt to the ground before her.
Loved is how she must've felt when you rushed to ask her the anticipated question.
The question of a delusional fairytale with your dearest self.
Loved is how she felt when you remembered her favorite blooms and wrapped them thoughtfully in a shade that matched her soul.
Loved is how she felt when you told her that she's "the one."
The one that babbles in your language
The one that enjoys your company at any curb you decide to take her to.
The one who's ecstatic after spending any of her precious time on you.
The one who is not me.
Loved is how she felt when you told her
she fixed you, and
pieced you back together;
with her kindness as the glue that kept you from re-shattering.
Loved is how she felt when she believed that she saved you from your dark past;
The past that is me.
But loved is not how I felt when you asked me that same exact question.
Loved is not how I felt receiving your insincere apology.
Loved is not how I felt knowing I have exhausted the light within you.
Knowing that it is, I, that ferociously played your heart like my favorite game.
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...
