“I fell in love with you. And then, I fell out.”
This is what I wished she’d said, or rather
this is what I hoped she’d say when instead she said nothing at all
and that day I learned that the opposite of love is not hate,
it’s indifference,
and that my hate for you only shows the stark contrast in everything about you that I adore. And I hate it.
I wish you could be less lovely.

Sometimes
I think about what could’ve been
and realize what would’ve been
could’ve been great.
Or it could’ve been hate,
or discomfort,
or borrowed love to replace our hurt
from our past and five minute of happy ever at last.
A Cinderella lost her glass slipper story,
turns into I hate you and ignoring.
Falling deeper and further
into and out of good intention
and finding ourselves into a field of unmentioned
gestures of in love turned unlove
and feel good into feel worse and worse everytime we fight and **** to make up.
A made up illusion of grandeur.
A magic show of cigarette smoke and mirrors.

With wax fashioned as wings Icarus flew towards the sun but is only remembered for the fall.
Why are we so focused on our shortcomings and forsake the passion and drive and light that we emit in times of success and near triumph?
Celebrate that your heart once did sing and your smiles came simply.
That your cheeks were sore and your abs were too.
That you were warm and you were generous and you were welcoming.
That you weren’t as cold as the winter that spurned you.
That your best only gave way to make space for something better.