I find it tragically beautiful;
How angry I am and how much I love you
Or did.
Hard to tell if I still do when I'm too hung up on remembering you.
Every single detail, bittersweet.
My heart pounds as I can feel how close we used to be
Both physically and spiritually.
Can't breathe.
The hardest part of this is not knowing whether you think of me.
My mind is flooded with images and sound:
How you used to crinkle your nose, your luscious brown hair and silky olive skin,
The way your voice glided into the most beautiful high notes,
And yet
You always hated all that I loved.
Now, I fear, you resent my caring for you and tending to your wounds
You are gorgeous, even when you leave.
What a lovely bird; what spiteful wings.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
I find it tragically beautiful;
How angry I am and how much I love you
Or did.
Hard to tell if I still do when I'm too hung up on remembering you.
Every single detail, bittersweet.
My heart pounds as I can feel how close we used to be
Both physically and spiritually.
Can't breathe.
The hardest part of this is not knowing whether you think of me.
My mind is flooded with images and sound:
How you used to crinkle your nose, your luscious brown hair and silky olive skin,
The way your voice glided into the most beautiful high notes,
And yet
You always hated all that I loved.
Now, I fear, you resent my caring for you and tending to your wounds
You are gorgeous, even when you leave.
What a lovely bird; what spiteful wings.
Best friends become dead ends. New beginnings are made separately. Desolately. Alone.
I am defenceless.
Request permission to use this poem