It hurts when it ends.
When everything you have ever needed,
decides it no longer needs you.

When it ends, it's the beginning you think of.
That first memory of it -
a precious bliss;
like sunshine, after a storm.

When it begins, it does not say when it'll end.
It never disclaims the pain you'll go through.
It promises happiness, and joy.
It promises forever.
And when it ends, it's the storm that is forever.
A storm that floods your insides with an eternal agony.

For, when it ends, you wonder;
how can this end -
when it is everything you have ever loved,
and needed?

You took away my poems.
You took away my journal entries.
You took away my writings.

But, in return, you gave me happiness.
You gave me a best friend, a lover.
You gave me someone who sees beyond my pain,
who sees strength in my weaknesses.

You took away my loneliness.
You took away my solitude.
You took away my habits.

And gave me someone to spend my time with.
You gave me new habits, good habits.
In my darkness, you gave me moonlight.

Love; you may have taken away things I dwelled in,
in my recluse, but, in return,
you have given me internal joy;
someone who picked up pieces of me,
made a collage, and calls it beautiful.

I was young when I first met her -
a teenager, and getting a hang of it.
I'd like to think I smiled more, back then.

I don't recall much before her -
even the little I remember feels surreal.

I had just experienced the sweetness of a first love -
staying up all night speaking on the phone,
exchanging silly, cute love messages read on the internet.
It was adorable, I tell myself.
Teenage love often is.

Then I met her.
She was quiet, and timid.
We barely saw each other -
but she was always on my mind.

At first, she'd only visit in the evenings.
As we grew closer to each other, she was around more.
She would swoop me away from friends -
she was jealous, and wanted me only to herself.
I was not cognisant of how jealous her love was.

She hated it if I was smiling, or laughing without her.
She hated it when I went to visit places without her.
She would be mad at me, if I did anything without her,
and I would cry myself to sleep.

So, to love her best and to make her happy;
I stopped smiling, or laughing without her.
I stopped going to places without her.
And I cried to sleep, even if she was not mad at me.

When I met her, she never gave me her name.
But I asked, I had to know her name.

Her name is Depression,
and I wish I never met her.

It was your voice, at first;
How you sounded -
Happy, but not complete.
Maybe you were and
I wasn't. I'm not.

Then, it was your eyes.
A cosmic gaze, but not too complex.
*****, but inviting exploration.
Dark, but lit a way -
brown, of an autumn sunset.

Then, it was your smile.
Small, but big enough to glare -
Often painted red with love,
A smile which stood out like sunflowers;
whenever you showed it.

Again, it was your voice;
How soft it became at 4am,
husky, when it loved me -
and loud, when it missed me.

Then, it was your hair.
The beauty of it fell over your shoulders;
Like artwork, when you waved it off your face;
to, again -
show off a smile that stands out,
eyes, that prompt being explored -
and a voice that demands being heard.

And, then, you told me your name.
Its meaning, light -
and it all made sense;
how you've illuminated my life -
from that first sound of your voice,
‘hello’.

I was never the type
of child that obeyed
much  of anything;
not even the many
times  I was told
not to stare into
the evening sun
when I felt
alone.