Some days i still love this girl,
I cant stop that ******* whirl;

I have ignored, rebuttled, analysed and rejected,
Any such thought that expelled love suspected,

I have slept, avoided, attacked and awoken,
Yet nothing can succeed in making that entity broken.

It’s not that i love her, in the same way that i did,
but the memory created wont keep on its lid,

and now unequivocally, we are never going to happen,
so i rationalise repeatedly, but the feeling doesn’t lessen.

It changes and it molds;
Reaping the left-behind-cold,
Knowing existing is incorrect,
Knowing it will never actually connect.

Then other days, i dont feel this insurrection.
I cant imagine her even existing in that section.

Yes she is still complicated, wild and free
And in my brain i know we’ll never be,
But it doesn’t disastrously disarm me
Or actually even silence the way i see

Not any more, not so dramatically.

It becomes like a memory,
The happy, the hurt, her heart,

It becomes like a memory,
All that uncertainty at the start

It becomes like a memory,
My refusal to explore the friendship sacrifition

It becomes like a memory,
When I thought I would ever opt into admission

My poetry will keep being written,
The idea came originally from her
And that is something I will take with me,
That’s one thing I know for sure.

I will love her forever,
Not in the same strong way,
but she was my first true love
She’ll be that til the end of my days