It's only been one year,
five months, twenty-three days
since we met; I know I must have
sounded crazy. Maybe if I wrote
that now, it wouldn’t seem so odd.
I could have made a mistake, looked
back and felt my face flush.
I could have been exaggerating.
We could have been long gone. But
I know that it’s not hyperbole. I
know that I was right. I wasn’t just
the crazy girl – I was so precise.
That was before we’d fought,
and I’d cried, and everything felt
terrible; that’s only made me love
you more. I cannot always express
myself. I can be so uncouth.
But I know what I feel,
and what I feel is devotion.
See? I’ve always
felt this way.
I always will.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
It's only been one year,
five months, twenty-three days
since we met; I know I must have
sounded crazy. Maybe if I wrote
that now, it wouldn’t seem so odd.
I could have made a mistake, looked
back and felt my face flush.
I could have been exaggerating.
We could have been long gone. But
I know that it’s not hyperbole. I
know that I was right. I wasn’t just
the crazy girl – I was so precise.
That was before we’d fought,
and I’d cried, and everything felt
terrible; that’s only made me love
you more. I cannot always express
myself. I can be so uncouth.
But I know what I feel,
and what I feel is devotion.
See? I’ve always
felt this way.
I always will.
Request permission to use this poem