you may hear both sides of a story
but you believe the side of the one you love
and my dear, you've loved each chapter.
and as much as you might wish
you'd never read those words,
they still ring inside of you
but you skipped the epilogue,
which confessed that both sides are true;
it is possible that the hero is also the villain,
and the angel also the demon,
and the sweetest caramel skin masochistic,
and the ivory wristed sadistic.
And the fire that had engulfed them both at one time
was the reader, with much to learn.
Because with pleasure came so much pain,
caused by each of us to the other,
and for that I almost wish I never touched her,
but I am more than thankful that a part of her touched me,
for I too once was just a reader, with much to learn.
And I read of a flower who cracked the strongest concrete,
I was afraid that I might have killed it,
so I left the bud there, to blossom under another's water and sunlight,
for I have much to learn on the art of forgiveness of others and oneself and the art of suffering in silence.
Let her teach you something. Let her whisper oxygenated truths into your ear and believe that it is all true, because it is, to her and to me and to you.