It probably hurts the most because it wasn't about me.
The squish, the warm glow, starkly empty.
That wisdom, the wit, the caring concern,
My unheeded affections already in urn.
I fostered ignorant hope, tentative dreams,
I shudder to think of all my unfruitful schemes.
There's wounded pride, yes. A small sadness, too.
But now I just pray it was unknown to you.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 6:57 PM UTC
It probably hurts the most because it wasn't about me.
The squish, the warm glow, starkly empty.
That wisdom, the wit, the caring concern,
My unheeded affections already in urn.
I fostered ignorant hope, tentative dreams,
I shudder to think of all my unfruitful schemes.
There's wounded pride, yes. A small sadness, too.
But now I just pray it was unknown to you.