Some people should come with a warning label…
Over the years, I lost count of how many relationships I sabotaged because my heart & mind was occupied by you, and the carnage is still palpable as I cradle the grief & loss of never holding you whilst clinging to the words that bound us together as if they were a life raft as we navigated the uncharted seas within one another.
You can’t possibly fathom the situation unless you’ve tasted the depth of such a love, and lived with the ache of never quite being able to nourish it until it blossoms into something even more beautiful.
Our love was akin to an abortion, and no amount of logic whilst deploying psychoanalytical workflows will ever reconcile the depth of such a loss, when you have no choice but to surrender to the realisation of the devastation.
Oceans apart, yet so deeply entwined in your imagery, a decade lost in a decade of growth, is a decade worth losing for a half lifetime still yet to live.
You’ve always been medicinal to my internal fracturing, not by design but rather by default, yet the grief & loss holds my heart to ransom as I learn to accept that you don’t love me but I always will.
I don’t behave like a petulant fucktard when I don’t get what I want, and that’s what sets me apart from those who can’t appreciate you, even whilst cradling the hurt you dish out.
Her oppositional defiance is nauseating but reminiscent of a child throwing a tantrum, it’s what defines a girl from a woman, and I don’t have daddy issues that underpin my behaviours, unlike those wilting flowers who’re stuck in your hair.
Sorry, not sorry.
How many years have we moved together, from there to here as our thoughts merged intoxicatingly, and still you don’t love me but I always will as we shift with the tides.
To have loved you so deeply, without embracing the grace of your touch as the warmth of your breath trails my flesh, whilst you hot & heavy handedly with the rough of your hands, leaves me gasping for air.
Until the ache that feels so real, draws me back to you as I know you don’t love me but I will always - love you.
And we cherished the way our hearts once danced; soulfully yet intently whilst playing for keeps as you were unable to stay the course, and I’m too old to compete for the affections of any man who’s unable to discern what he needs or wants.
You were my chosen poison, and wine.
Perhaps, we’ll meet to ponder what dreams may have become but was unable to flourish, post crossing the bar.