When I want to feel you, I play that song.
The one you said you loved more than me.
I knew of it, but, after you, I loved it.
I wonder if you had anything like that?
It's crazy how even after you shattered my heart, I can't hate you.
A part of me, I fear, might always love you.
Long for you.
Wish for you.
I once shared all the pieces of my life with you.
Now I doubt whether I'd even see your face at my wedding.
Maybe you'll show up directly at my funeral to pay formal respects with dry eyes.
You and I would probably be complete strangers by then.
Struggling to remember why we once mattered so much to each other.
It's pathetic, saddening, how you didn't love me as much as you made me believe you did.
For no one who loves you would hurt you as such— could hurt you as such.
However, I still sometimes want to feel the illusion of the comfort your love once gave me.
So, I play that song again.
The one you probably made someone else love by now.
YOU ARE READING
not a poetess, just heartbroken
PoetryIt is a collection of poems by a writer, not a poetess. Sometimes, tears and pain make you do things you wouldn't usually do. For me, it was writing poems in the form of questions I wish I could ask them. But I can't, so I hope, dear reader, you fin...
