Is it too early to say
that out of all the houses I've been to
your arms was the only place I called home?

I could write a hundred poems
about how you left
and I will still be here asking myself why.

This was our dream.
To dance barefoot under the moonlight
and the night skies
like nobody's watching.

And then it happened.
One night we were dancing in the street
barefoot, under the moonlight
and the night skies
just like as promised.

Only with a different person,
and it's no longer me.

February came,
And then you left.

I love broken things,
But I don't love myself.