The Art of Love

The One That I Let Away

He used to ask me.
Why it is,
That I stopped laughing at his jokes one day.

He used to ask me.
Why it is,
That silent greeted him wherever I went.
No excited “hello”,
Weekend story,
Not even…
A smile.

He used to ask me.
Why it is,
That I stopped loving that little crease between his eyes,
Or every funny hand gesture he made
In a big dramatic story.

He used to ask me.
Why it is,
That every time we sit together,
I always quiet down,
Shrink away,
Not in fear,
But rather, in apprehension.

He used to ask me.
Why it is,
That every time he texts,
I do not open,
Nor read,
Nor acknowledge,
Even hours…
Days…
Weeks…
Later.

He used to ask me.
Why it is,
That every time we talk,
I always prefer to look,
Over his left shoulder,
Into the dark grey,
And stormy skies,
When his greys,
Were all I ever really needed
To stare at.

He used to ask me.
Why it is,
That every time it was cold out,
I never asked for his sweatshirt,
Despite all the times,
I had run my hands over them.
All the times,
I had loved to run my hands
Over his bare arms.

He used to ask me.
Why it is,
That every time we had a funny conversation,
I would say something,
Mean…
Cold…
Rude…
Something as unlike me,
As the hell was
To the clear blue skies.

In reality,
He used stopped asking me.
Why I always pushed him away.

Because smart as he was,
He knew.

It was all,
Because

Of

You.

Special thanks to all those out there for standing by me despite my silence. My adoration for you is immeasurable beyond mere words.

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One thought on “The One That I Let Away

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