I undress her every weekend night.
To fill her insides with expired love & lust.
As thoughts & images of him shapeshift inside her head.
I feel like a stained glass artist.
Broken fragments after fragments, restore, recovered, painting over this mind of hers.
To hide the regret, shame, pain, & dignity,
She's thrown away for me.
He had you, you had him.
Now I have you & I don't want you.
"I love her down to her very existence,
I love her inconsistently, unconditionally, with flaws at seam.
But it seems that her love for me was elsewhere & so was she."
Love wasn't meant for everyone.
Sometimes we come to terms & terms themselves have unfold in idle form.
Loving someone from head to toe, skin, flesh, & soul.
Doesn't mean much anymore.
— The End —