i loved you
not because of your scent
or because of the crinkle in your eyes

i did not love you
because of the melody in your laughter
or the brightness of your smile

no.

i did not love you because you gave me flowers
or because you sang me a song.

and i certainly did not love you
because of the warmth of your embrace
or the softness of your hand in mine.

i did not love you
because you stayed up hours to talk to me.

no.

i loved you because you saw what no one else
ever saw in me.

i opened my closet of monsters to you
and even with fear in your eyes
you embraced me.

i loved you because
you still stayed beside me
despite the fact i was not as beautiful as you.

i loved you because of the gentle patience
you gave to me when i was filled with nothing
but doubt and despair.

i loved you because of the time
you spent with me
when i was scared of my own self.

i loved you because despite the fear i instilled in not only
myself, but you as well,
you tamed me.

you loved me when i did not love myself
and for that,
i truly did love you.

i wrote you
a letter every day
letters to tell you
just how i feel

written in neat, curved
writing i told you
just how sweet
i thought you were
how you made my heart
glow

letters in which i wrote
with various colors of ink
pouring out my whole being
to you

i wrote you
a letter every day.

i wrote you letters in which
i told you how you made me
bloom.

eventually
i found myself
pressing harder on
the paper
than i had before.

creating tears in them
similar in shape
and size
as the ones
inside of me.

i began to send
letters
with creases
and bumps
and stains
splattered with tears

pouring
from my eyes

as i wrote
the anger
bubbling within me.

my last letter
addressed to you
contained
no words

but was blank.
because
i had none that

could reach
as far

and deep

into the cracks
of my
heart

to describe
just
what you

had left
of me.