You gave back only a fraction of what I gave. Leaving me to wonder where all the other pieces went.

And I gave you all of me.

"why are you writing
poems and prose?"
asked a guy out of nowhere
while staring at my pen

"to breathe."
I answered with a smile

for writing lets me indulge
with metaphors and similes

it is my escape
the key toward my fantasies

Maybe something I don't know about happened in the past.

Perhaps someone took away my heart.

Or is it just me?
Because everyone I meet makes me feel like I'm just so hard to love.

And now...they find it odd, that I like it so much in the dark.

You loved me like they do in the movies.
Perhaps thats the reason why it ended.