I don't know why at eighteen,
one year after we had started dating,
I didn't leave when I realized
that I didn't love you.
Maybe it was because when
you whispered "I love you."
"You're so beautiful."
"Promise we'll be together forever."
I saw the passion in your eyes
and told myself I'd give
my heart one more year to
decide it loved you back.

Except at nineteen, when you
and I moved into an apartment
at college together, I still
felt empty when I lay beside
you. I tormented myself
so much. I wanted so badly to
fall in love with you, so that
I wouldn't have to hurt you
later on. But at twenty-four,
five years later, when you pulled
out a ring and proposed, I
realized I had waited too long
for my heart to find something
that didn't even exist.