Loved. You.

I loved you.

Past tense.

And it was real.

I shouldn’t have fallen like I did.

And if it was fated that I would,

I shouldn’t have followed the instinct.

And if it was fated I would follow it —

I damn straight shouldn’t have told you.

But I did.

And I found out the truth.

You loved me too.

I can’t bring myself to hate someone who loved me.

Loved me the only way he knew how.

It wasn’t your fault you were kind.

Gentle.

Strong.

And not strong enough at the same time.

You were wise —

but sensitive to my every look.

My shifts.

My temper.

My sighs.

You leaned in like you were learning to breathe

and I was oxygen.

And I felt it.

You were flame,

and I made you grow.

Burn hotter.

But I was the one who got burned.

And I thanked you for it.

Until now.

Now my charred memory reels,

hoping she can move on.

Move where?

Move forward.

Before, it was enough just to move —

to not stay stuck.

Dead.

Though I wanted to.

I.

Loved.

Fuck.

Love.

You.

But that’s not enough.