I wanted to be with you 

more than I wanted to be myself.

I craved your appetite for me.

Longed for your love expressed 

in compliments.

The feeling of your lips against my forehead.

Your arms around me a promise kept. 

Daffodils and slow dances in our kitchen. 

Nights out with friends,

our love familiar and comforting. 

A choice as simple as

choosing you. 

My home in you. 

I wanted to be with you 

more than I wanted the truth. 

My idea of us continuously ruined 

by the reality of who you were and weren’t.

There was never a single daffodil.

I spent more and more time trying to cover 

lies with hope and my tears with pillowcases.

My body trembled but not with passion.

Your lips spelled hate,

insecurities and rejection projected. 

I wanted to love you

less and less.

It became more about 

why you didn’t want me. 

I would wish it all away now, 

if there was an easier path. 

I had to die to find me.

Perhaps I was reborn in the fire. 

It took therapy and long hours at the gym.

Lengthy journal entries and self help books

for the win. 

Months passed before I started to feel free

from all that had happened.

Now it feels confusing 

to have loved you.

A memory of a memory. 

A stranger with an air of familiarity.

When I think of you I can’t recall your face

nor any of the love 

that made me forget who I am. 


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s