even love.

they tell me it’s wrong
to love you.

//

I tried slipping you into a pocket,
hiding you beneath my pillow
like a tattered daydream
I can’t stop remembering.
I tried to smooth your every edge,
make you soft. to their eyes,
you were consuming,
you were a fire.
in my hands you were
snow.

//

they tell me you’re surface:
a polished stone
& nothing more. they see
statue of marble, I see
the color of your eyes
& the way you smile.
I feel your arms around me.

//

I wove you into every story,
adorning my speech with your name.
I crafted poems to whisper
your words, to echo
the curve of your lips
& coffee-stained kiss.
I recited your promises in every
written maybe,
smiling to myself at the miracle
of you being mine.

//

they don’t mention
the way I looked at you.
they don’t speak
of the painted conversations
I present them with.
they shake their heads
& mutter obsessed
like a lonely curse.
I think of your laugh
& wish for your presence.
time has a way of erasing
even people, even love.
I wonder if you think of me.

//

tell me, was it wrong
to love you?

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3 thoughts on “even love.

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