I wanted to tell you about the
fluttering of my heart when I first heard
your voice but I didn’t
want you to pass me off as
an overly hopeless romantic who
believed feeling butterflies was
the first step in the road towards marriage.
And I wanted to tell you I couldn’t breathe
when you weren’t talking to me
but I had always sworn to myself that
I wouldn’t become dependant on
anyone or anything, and saying that
you helped me breathe made me feel so
weak that I began to hate myself.
I wanted to make a list of all the things
I loved about you and write it
into a cliché song or poem with a witty
title but I realised I had written
so many songs and poems about
you that maybe you’d realise how much
I feared losing you and you’d use it against me.
I wanted to be my best when I was
around you but somehow you brought out
my weaknesses and when you told
me we all have some darkness
within us, I looked at you and thought
you must’ve been lying, because
you were sitting right in front of me and all
that came from you was light.
I wanted to be your everything but
I was just the reflection of the moon on
your bedroom window, the way you wished
you felt when you woke up from a long sleep,
the hope that distance would one day
cease to exist, and that was more
than I ever could’ve hoped to be, but
somehow, it was not enough.