I write this poem to cement that we had existed.
At one point, we had loved,
we had laughed,
and we had lived.

We happened and we were happy.
I was infatuated with you.
You were my everything,
and I was yours.

There was a moment where
I would have been able to die,
happily without regret
just knowing our love was real.

I feel this ache that runs through
my veins and body,
in a painful rush.
What have you done to us?