If actions are what spoke of love,
Then he didn't love her.
She thought that he was different.
"He could be a little proud,
He will show it eventually. His love I mean."
It never came. The love she spoke
And thought of was a mystery.
She alone expressed it.
Stuck to the one-side of all things.
Her pile yet filled with his trash.
She bore it with a teary smile,
Always optimistic that it was all a start
It can only get better.
If better meant pain, then yeah.
She was on the right truck.
How exciting!
It piled up so high
That she couldn't look beyond,
Beyond the hill created by her
Endless tears and sorrow.
She cried on and on
For her tears to wash her pile away
Into the back of her mind.
It killed her so much
That she groaned,
Then she forgot,
Her pile erased her story.
It became so high that it began
To fade away so easily,
And she loved him still.
A/N: Do you ever get lost in a story not your own but because you care so much it becomes you as it eats you up? To love truly is to lose yourself.
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𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 ✓
PoetryRanking #1 among stories by Ugandan authors #Uganda 15/11/22 Tying the knot should be (and must be) the most exciting experience of any woman's life. However, married to the most selfish man in the world? It seems like the knot is tied around your n...
