I loved you.
No, scratch that. I love you.
I figured out that what I felt for you was real, true, pure love in a multitude of ways.
I figured out that what I felt for you wasn't puppy love.
The first sign was when I looked back at all the other times I had been "in love"
I realized what I felt then was absolutely nothing compared to what I felt now.
The second sign was that I was willing to use my senior trip to visit you.
Not Italy, to explore my Sicilian heritage.
Not to Brighton, to try to spot my favorite youtuber
But to you, all the way in Leicester, where– according to you– there was f all to do.
But I had hoped me seeing you in person would make you realize you loved me too, that I would jump out of the "maybe box" and into your heart.
The third and final sign was when you broke my heart.
I cried for only two days
After crying for years over my first "heartbreak" I decided crying over a boy, no matter how much I loved him, was stupid.
So I stopped crying.
I tried to hate you
I tried so hard.
I thought of everything crappy you had done to me (which wasn't a lot)
How you had led me to believe that maybe, just maybe, you loved me too.
But, no matter what I thought of, my efforts were in vain, for I physically, mentally, spiritually,
Could not hate you.
Even now, when you barely contact me, whether I reach out to you or you to me
I cannot hate you.
Sometimes I wonder that if I jumped on a plane and showed up at your doorstep
Could you realize that you loved me, and not her?
Do you tell her the same jokes I told you?
That you told me?
Do you tell her that you love her
Like I did you?
Does she make you feel safe
Like you can tell her anything without the impending judgment
As you said you felt with me?
Do you tell her good morning
And goodnight
Like I did you?
I cannot hate you
But I cannot have you either.
So now I write stupid little love poems
Secretly hoping that one day you will find them
And think that you missed out on something amazing
Even if it is not true.
YOU ARE READING
THE H WORDS
PoezieWritten by, in the teenage years of, a not so special girl, with a not so special past, with a not so special life. Written by a girl who could never write poetry in the first place, but still did so when her emotions spilled over the edge. Writte...
