the art of loving you

forty four.

it was so scary,
seeing you like that:
you were my brave girl,
my reluctant knight,
but you were soft
(it was your every strength
and only weakness)
and here i was:
a pathetic,
lovesick girl,
who did not know how to comfort you
when you needed me.

you said you hated him
and you were so mad at yourself
for falling for him,
and i think i heard you mumble
how stupid you were
for chasing after someone else
(who else was there for you?)

your eyes met mine,
as the stars slipped down your cheeks,
and i knew.
(i had always known,
hadn't i?)

and you watched as i struggled
to put your puzzle piece heart
back together,
but you kept holding the pieces
out of reach,
as if the only reason i would stay
was to fix you.

your black hole eyes
would not let me go
and the supernova
that was your aching heart
threatened to burst into the stars
that made up your tears,
and i was no match
(no, i never was)
and you knew,
you knew,
and you whispered,
"i think i..."

"don't.
i am not yours anymore."

and the black holes
and stars
and supernovas
imploded.
what a beautiful disaster.