long before the tides came in
and swept away our crippled romance;
long before the sun
burned up the technicolor veil on our monochrome love;
long before the heavens shook so hard
that the stars in our eyes had no choice but to fall back to the earth,
i believe we might've had something real.
and i say "might" because,
as you know,
i hate saying things with certainty.
it just ends in disappointment.
i believe we might've had something real because,
despite all of the warning signs
forecasting our untimely demise,
you never once called me on the phone without a voice full of hope.
despite all of the monsters dragging us down
(you know the ones;
they'd hide behind my eyes
and in the corner of your brain),
you never once looked at me without a gaze of euphoria.
(i'm not a drug, though, and perhaps i should've realized that a bit sooner. maybe i could have left the battlefield without tripping over so many corpses).
to this day,
i don't really know what you saw in me
(or if you saw anything at all).
all i know is that whatever blissful light floated in the empty space between us
was bound to become corrupted by darkness,
even from the start.
i let you feed me adoration in heavy spoonfuls,
as though i was the last lively flower in a barren field,
and you the lucky honeybee.
(i forgot, however, about the sting).
i was tired,
but i could see in your face that you never would be.
(i could also see what you'd become were i to leave -- an empty, sad shadow. nothing but carrion in a world of vultures).
i want you to know that,
i did love you.
on some days, i'd see your face and my aching heart would spring to life.
on some days, i thought i might actually be happy spending an eternity with you.
(perhaps, in a sense, i did. maybe ours was just an eternity shorter than most).
sometimes i regret not trying harder.
not for my sake, but for yours.
there are times when i try to convince myself
that you're doing just fine on your own,
that you don't need me,
that you found bigger, brighter flowers
in a field not so barren.
but then i remember the look in your eyes
on that gray afternoon in september
when you saw me packing my things
and it hit you,
like an oncoming train,
that i was leaving.
(i imagine that we both looked very much like ghosts that day,
drained of all the life once inside us).
i remember how,
for a while,
you didn't speak,
too choked up by tears.
(when you finally did say something, the voice wasn't yours. it was small and defeated and terribly confused).
i remember seeing the monsters take over again,
viciously seizing control in a manner very similar to how i imagine they had before we met.
and now, whenever i find myself thinking about you,
the first thought is always the same.
i wonder if, were i to see you walking down the street, i would recognize you, or if maybe the monsters have already made you into something else -- a man unrecognizable.
so i try not to think about you.
not too much, anyway.
every now and then, though,
your memory creeps in,
right behind my eyes,
where my monsters used to be.
and i can't help but imagine that when you think of me,
my memory climbs out from the corner of your brain,
where your monsters were.
i realize now, with certainty, that what we had was real.
but just because something is real doesn't mean it's beautiful.
hi, i haven't written in a while, so here's a poem. it isn't a personal poem; it's written from the POV of a woman who was in an unhappy relationship and is inspired by a short story i recently read. so yeah, hope you guys like it