For the first time, I heard violins. My whole life has been a symphony, I just wasn't paying attention. I was lost in your eyes and your stories that I forgot about mine. String by string, you wrapped your fingers around my heart. And they were soft. I listened to your song and it took me out of the reality I was in.
Pluck.
The first red flag. Using your delicate words to try and find the key to my chamber. I let you in because I wanted to. You mirrored my energy and I felt our building connection.
Pluck.
I misread the situation. What I saw as a budding romance, you saw as an escape from yourself. I saw a beautiful man and you saw an instrument. Something to fetishize.
Pluck.
I trusted that you could handle vulnerability. Yours and mine. And so I gave you space. I needed it too. To figure out why I was so latched onto you. The reasons were out of reach, replaced by worry and doubt. You asked me what I wanted in a man while knowing you were the complete opposite. You lured me into a lion's den just to tell me you can't be my boyfriend. All of the connecting and flirting between us was a false sense of intimacy. An illusion. And just like that, you left.
I hope the sounds of violins will remind you of what we could've been. You told me you're a messy failure and now I know why. You reach out to younger girls just so they can boost your ego when you cry.
YOU ARE READING
Immature Hearts
PuisiPoetry about people who don't know how to handle a heart delicately.