I write this poem to cement that we had existed.
At one point, we had loved,
we had laughed,
and we had lived.
We happened and we were happy.
I was infatuated with you.
You were my everything,
and I was yours.
There was a moment where
I would have been able to die,
happily without regret
just knowing our love was real.
I feel this ache that runs through
my veins and body,
in a painful rush.
What have you done to us?
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 5:22 AM UTC
I write this poem to cement that we had existed.
At one point, we had loved,
we had laughed,
and we had lived.
We happened and we were happy.
I was infatuated with you.
You were my everything,
and I was yours.
There was a moment where
I would have been able to die,
happily without regret
just knowing our love was real.
I feel this ache that runs through
my veins and body,
in a painful rush.
What have you done to us?
