He told me I was all types of wonderful.

He said I found something melancholic in everything;
That I saw meaning in all things I perceived.
And that it was so, so beautiful.

But no, it was just what I saw.
I didn't understand.
Everything felt so disheartening to me.
I didn't understand him,
who found beauty
in my own sadness.

He said he loved me for who I was,
but he didn't really know me.
For who I am.
Who I became.
Who I turned out to be.

He told me he understood,
but I know he didn't.
I could see it in his eyes,
and his smile.
In his words,
that speak of such sweetness,
but with simplicity.

Maybe it was me who couldn't understand him.

I found bleakness in the way he loved me,
and that was when I decided:
there was definitely something deeply wrong with me.

Maybe I was broken.

And perhaps broken people,
were only meant for broken people.

— Y.H.

desolation,
gentle fervor.