He seemed perfect, almost unreal, and I suppose that was the cruelest part about him, it was the devastation that occurred when I realized that, he wasn't, and that those same eyes, that would look at me like i was the only hope, were looking at another girl that way, a prettier girl, a girl that didn't have so much to fix. I guess I had my chance, but then again, so did he, and no matter how many times I say that it's my fault, that I was the stupid one, I will never truly blame it all on myself, because he is the one who walked out too soon, so soon that he never even got to see that he never had to fix me, cause I was in the midst of fixing myself, he never got to see me heal myself, to witness a miracle, that was in his honor.
YOU ARE READING
Ne Decorem
Poesia"Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice?" - Virginia Woolf
