What I miss most is how you loved me
but what I didn't know was how you loved me had so much to do with the person I was.
It was a reflection of everything I gave you, coming back to me.
How did I not see that?
How did I sit here soaking in the idea that no one else would love me that way.
When it was I that taught you. When it was I that showed you how to fill the way I needed to be filled. How cruel I was to myself.
Giving you credit for my warmth simply because you had felt it.
Thinking it was you who gave me strength, wit, beauty simply because you recognized it.
As if I was already not these things before I met you.
As if I did not remain all these things after you left.
YOU ARE READING
Spilled Ink
Poetry"Things don't always work out the way we hope. You just have to pick yourself up and find a new direction to go in." - Joelle Charbonneau
