I had learnt to love her.
As she was,
wrought with all her surprises;
when she moved in,
with her books and her vices,
I had learnt to love her.
Waking at 2,
to find her crouched by the window;
shaking her awake
as she wrestled with her ego.
Keeping my peace,
when her heart roamed town untethered;
The door clicking shut,
and at 3, I had learnt to love her.
I’ve felt her warmth against me,
even in the coldest of her nights.
I’ve caught her gazing at me;
I remember the ghost of a smile.
Nestled against each other on my warm brown couch,
listening to her verses, her secret art
Tracing our fates along the ridges of her spine,
‘I’ve learnt to love her,’ whispered my defeated heart.
I had learnt to love her when I knelt, drenched,
hugging her under the shower, dressed in my Sunday best.
And when I sat unmoving, convinced by her words,
that she had to break herself down to build herself back up.
Unable to sway her fiery soul,
I walked through the debris
scouting the wreckage of forsaken art;
shards of glass, ash, and pieces of me.
It’s dark now and I can finally see –
learning to love her was never meant for me.
Packed bags, taking everything in my world but me,
there are no words or lingering touches as she turns to leave.
Wretched and enchanted, I had learnt to love her.
Now I must learn to love myself without her.
