The first time you
Said hello to me,
I didn't even know whether
To freeze at the fact
That you were acknowledging my existence
Or to freeze at the ******* fact
That YOU were acknowledging my mere existence.

She was a writer
& I fall inlove **** easily.
With her metaphors, similes, sonnets
on Sunday mornings.
but she never
wrote about me

"I loved you
but you never quite loved me"(past tense)

Concrete would crack
and grow  
old before
you ever admitted that you needed me
& at the time I didn't think
much of it
Because my mind
Was years ahead,
contemplating on which
apartment we should call
"Ours",
but  I should've seen the signs
and listened to my fragile
but accurate heart.
I chose not to,
Because who would?

(Nothing good ever comes
from listening to the voice
Inside your chest)

This poem is about you,
but it is also not about you.
Because if I leave you under
the impression that it's meant for
somebody else,
I might be able to salvage
my barley-breathing pride and still remain sane

Or I could swallow it.
In the hope that it doesn't claw it's
Way out of my mouth
& whisper the words
"I still love you"

That would be awful..