How do I begin…
because this wasn’t love.
Love is not made of
healing wounds,
stitching scars or
catching my bruises.
We weren’t made to break,
and put each other
back together.
My long lost treasure.
The little girl of my
past never dreamed
of
this love.
It was never on my cards.
We are never born to
believe that love is
meant to fix,
hold us together
when the end comes to call.
I believed that my
love would draw out
your poison.
Replace it with my
own self esteem.
Hail you the King to my Queen,
the knight to my
shining armour.
We never bloomed
flowers,
just weeds,
and we were afraid to pull them up,
so we let them infect,
and they spread through our veins.
We told ourselves that
everything was the same,
that we were okay.
The love we practised
would never heal our
past, or make us
better
people.
Our love would never
bloom a garden in
our chests.
Our love was never love.
Because you don’t hurt,
you don’t break,
you don’t wipe away
what the person you
love made.
This love was not what
we believed,
or what others perceived.
We were a chapter,
a paragraph,
a short few seconds in
our epic blockbusters.
A cameo of what could have been.
What we could
see,
but never became.
This love would
never fix,
but break again and
again.
My love was never
made to heal,
or to pretend that
this issue
was never real.
It was never born to
mourn your past,
or who you once
were.
My love was never
made for you,
or us.
And for that,
I am sorry.
LegallyFierceFeminist 