I could have owned bookcases filled with sentiments of my love for you,
I’d have written journals, diaries and stories on the passage of our love,
Where we met,
The first place we’d left ridden with our pooling scent.
I knew from the first time our eyes connected,
I could strip bare and expose my flaws.
I knew the chemistry was mutual,
That our bond would brew and you’d realize our tie.
I’d learn that you were already broken,
That you believed you were mangled beyond repair,
I’d trust you could free yourself,
That you would soon forgive and understand.
You possessed too many damaged knots.
Years passed and you were still a black hole,
No letter, novel, or journal, could soothe over the darkness within you,
Now I am writing with a broken pencil,
Because you are no longer worth the lead I use.
I could have loved you endlessly,
I now understand,
That I can never love someone,
Who will not forgive the past.
