No longer

What wouldn’t I give

to see your face right now,

to hold your hands and rub my thumb across yours,

to sit on top of you and laugh at our inside jokes,

to comfort you while you cry about things you’d never tell,

to have your lips pressed against my forehead instead of saying goodbye,

to look in those eyes and see what you didn’t want me to,

to want you to play with my hair,

to feel the warmth of you beside me,

to listen to some story you’ve told me three times already,

to follow along off key to our song,

to smile at your smile,

to know you are okay,

and simply to be with you.

What wouldn’t I give?

I won’t give you

my face to hold and kiss,

my body to tickle and the peace you found inside my laugh,

my hands to hold,

my messy hair to mess up more,

my words of wisdom and strength,

my smile to know I’m okay,

my other half of bed that you called your own,

my listening heart,

my open mind,

and simply my love.


Because you

left when things got tough,

gave up before we began,

didn’t listen to my cries,

weren’t loyal,

and simply never apologized.

And yet you’ve got one thing,

my forgiveness.

God, I’d give the world and more for us to be us again,

but simply I will no longer give myself,

because you no longer deserve the key to home we built,

and I realized I want more back than you ever gave.


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