There was a love
Living deep in the
Melting plastic of
Molding bottles of water,

Barely breathing breaths
Of spray paint and
Rusting needles,

Bond only by the
Yellowing, lip-like cracked
Pages of a story

Written between the margins of a novel.

I
think
I
am
more
important
than
I
tell
myself.

So let me get this straight;
there was one point during whatever this is,
that I was kind of important to you.
I did matter, you did care,
that, at the very least, is the truth.

But what happened after that,
to make me so easy to replace,
to ignore, to put out of your mind?
Was I only a momentary thought for your pleasure,
a nice way to past the time?

Don't tell me you thought I moved on first,
just because I'm close to other men.
Because from what I heard
you aren't lonely either,
and the women you're with
are far from just "friends".

It would be nice to know for sure,
that you think of me, every now and again,
because lord knows I can't keep you off of my brain.
I just have to find out if you were worth all the sleepless nights,
or were my feelings for you just in vain.

love is hard
you put your everything into someone and hope they don't throw it back in your face
you make memories that are nearly impossible to forget and hope they don't give you a reason to want to forget them
you give them your heart and hope they don't rip it apart
you fall and hope they catch you before you hit the ground
but love is *worth it