tags: angst and implied breakup why don't i love myself??
poetry, 54 lines

there's two things you've learned,
on loving and leaving.
one is terrifying, but rewarding, achingly slow or quick adrenaline rush.
the other, lingering, a different, burning and painful ache.

he's someone you welcome,
someone you let in.

for a moment, you're thinking,
'this is what i want.
this is what i have.'
and in that second. you do have everything.

he's someone you had all of in one second,
and none of in the next.

then, then, settling reality.
'this is what i want.
this is what i had.'
past tense. no more. gone.

but, love doesn't dissipate so easily.
it's heavy fog,
blinding haze that
doesn't lift when you snap your fingers, begging, pleading.

you have memories,
your finger hovering over the delete button
of old photos and texts.
things you had then, but have lost now.

(things you can't bring yourself
to let go of.)

(not completely.)

(never completely.)

he's a ghost now,
and you can't separate the blurred lines
between reality and dream,
want and truth.

you want.
want him to be real, here again.
want this piece of each other.
want this love.

but, truth is,
it's long out of reach.
nothing but a specter,
a shade of a past you once had, now void and vacant.

and you could say,
that you regret letting him in in the first place,
that you regret loving
now that you've lost it.

you could say,
that it's your fault
for letting someone claim your heart this way.
your fault for letting him in.

but really,
you don't think you really could.
because love and loss are both
an agonizingly slow ache.

one is just better, more exhilarating, than the other,
you've learned.