There is something so special
about your second love.
I was taught
that the second does not hurt as badly
as the first,
but that was wrong.

When I think of his hand
tracing over the outline of my spine,
his fingers ghosting over my skin
in the same manner that his presence
hovered in the room
caused for my heart to shatter
at the same time as it did for my skin to erupt
into goosebumps.
I was angry because I felt that my body was betraying me
by enjoying his actions
while he painstakingly was leaving;
checking out mentally.

He told me that he loved me.
He lied.
I knew from the moment the words left his mouth
that they were empty,
and yet I allowed them to flow from my eardrums
straight into the base of my heart
to settle there, build a nest and remain
until he left.

Now I know that he will not return
and the nest will stay there
until another can come
to build a new one.