“I love you, but...” I remember.
My heart remembers
everything that I tried to cover,
My every inch trembles
as the clock struck twelve and linger,
My memory betrays
by flashing vivid scenes of those happy days,
My eyes flood with tears
ashamed that I’m still stuck in his shadow—in fear,
My personality wears
the cloak of hope—one day I’ll be worthy of answers,
My voice cracks and utters
a plea to wipe out the pain that serves as his reminder.
They said moving on is easy
but staying moved on is harder—a lot trickier,
It is a never ending loop of
waiting, wasting and wondering.
To say “I love you, but...” is to say “I did not love you at all.”
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