His illuminating personality is,
if anything,
But a thinly veiled facade for the pain that lies underneath.
When looking deeply into his eyes,
just maybe,
You’ll see something I couldn’t.
Some say monster, some say saint;
although unsure,
For all I saw was him,
In his entirety.
As I sit here writing about someone I could barely grasp,
yet he holds me with such force,
The red seeps into a frigid purple,
As my superficialities begin to fade and the real damage is revealed.
The man I loved.
Is who hurts the most, even on his best days.
It’s time for me to end my romanticization with a ghost of a memory.
Life is waiting.