When I tell our story I hope you can forgive,
if I tell them that the sky exploded with
all of the letters that I only hoped to give,
the letters that proved I always plead fifth.
Because I'd also have to let them know,
all of my letters became the show
right after you introduced your beau
and left no room for our love to grow.
When I let go of the hand that I knew
would never belong with the likes of me,
I had to force myself to start anew
and believe it best for you to let be.
But you clearly had something else in mind
when you abruptly put your hand in mine
and admitted that for me you have pined.
All these years, you weren't really fine.
I wish I didn't hear what you never said,
and I wish I'd never hear them again.
Yet those words did put my questions to bed,
all that's left is my broken heart to mend.
One after the other waves collapsed,
and as my memories became a blur,
I also hoped to forget all perhaps
the reminder of how we never were.
Free verse.
YOU ARE READING
Amateur #NaPoWriMo 2015
Thơ caAmateur poetry collection about amateurs in love (the broken hearts.) Brokenhearted Poetry #1 National Poetry Writing Month 2015