i want what you can offer, more than i want you
and maybe that’s the sad part, you know?
the fact that I have to pull myself together, for you, but
see my insides break apart,
break apart at seeing you,
knowing that the warmth — the afterglow — was too good to be true
that i was never really in, and i never really came close
to what could have been real, had i chased you,
had i chased what i had wanted
and prayed for — but maybe that’s all you are.
i keep telling myself this, that i love your sweetness in my head
and not your sweetness in my eyes, but you showed me up
broke my expectations, exceeded what my mind has conjured
but it’s all useless, anyway — denial, i mean,
because it is all futile, and all you did was
look the other way, with your hands still outstretched towards me.
but i’m not blaming you. and i’m not blaming me, either.
it’s not our faults that hearts were made
penetrable, but ceaseless.