This is a story of a quiet tragedy,
The kind of tragedy that you don’t really notice all that much,
Until you do.
Until you notice.
And the folly of it is knowing that you can’t take that realization back.
This is a story of a boy and a girl.
For the boy loved the girl for a very long time.
And after a very long time she began to love him back.
She gave up everything for him, every freckle.
She compromised herself.
Unchained herself from her loneliness.
She gave him her heart,
A terribly fragmented and tortured *****, not worth a dime,
But a heart all the same.
She hid her broken fears and began to smile when she saw him.
She let herself think of him at night.
She began to remember the breath of his fingerprints.
Yet she had given up so much in the search of love,
(She gave up everything).
She became a martyr to love.
And yet, when she turned to witness all that she had done,
Standing on the parallels of perpetual happiness and sorrow,
She noticed with a sigh,
That there was nothing left.
But a lonely grave,
And a certain emptiness,
An emptiness she was all too comfortable with.
An emptiness that stood on the rumble of emotion.
A emptiness that told of a tiredness,
She felt everything yet nothing at all.
She will remember that nothingness for the rest of her life.
This isn't a **** poem,
But I feel it and isn't that enough.