Somewhere between meeting you and loving you I stopped writing.
I've built up so much to say I don't know where to start
with everything you broke or all the times you broke my heart.
I could begin with your secrets and their names
shed light on the pain, the shame
and talk about how much it still weighs.

I could go on about our begin-agains and epiphanies,
spiritual connections and energy,
adventures that will go down in history
but those things don't consume me
I need to bleed out these other feelings,
I want to work on forgiving.

You know this isn't all your fault.
Scared to love you I bittered my heart
and you hated the taste;
didn't believe in letting your time go to waste
so part of you let go.
I'm not sure that part ever came back...
Maybe I've seen it but it never stays,
and neither do you.