We cling to music, to poems, to quotes, to writing, to art because we desperately do not want to be alone. We want to know we aren't going crazy and someone else out there knows exactly how you're feeling. We want someone to explain the things we can't.
I barely even know him.
We only met once, but that one night was better than I thought it could be.
We talked for a while after that night.
I waited for you to ask, but you never did.
We stopped talking.
I tried to get over you.
And now I might see you again.
I have handled rejection before,
but I don't think I could deal with it from you.
The first time we met
That one perfect night
we danced, we laughed, we talked
The last time we met
That awful night
you apologized, I cried, you left.
Even though I know you're gone I can't help, but hope that you will come back.
I woke up and looked at your side of the bed and thought that you must have gone downstairs early.
Then I remembered that you weren't here.
That you left.
I am too young to hurt this much.
isn't it awful when you are hurt and disappointed so often, you start to say,
"I'm used to it"
How could I have prepared to love someone who doesn't love me back?