I don't think I loved you.
I trusted you and had respect for you.
I admired you.
And maybe i was infatuated.
A little bit.
....a lot.
It doesn't matter.
It wasn't real.
Didn't last long enough to have a name.
But I made you take of my clothes.
And in the after, I had laid in your arms and felt numb.
And I had been numb ever since.
Its not that I felt used or anything because I made you do it.
I didn't say stop.
I didn't feel robbed.
I felt disappointment.
Not in you or even myself.
But in the thing we had without a name.
It was there among the other things I felt, like hunger when I'm hungry.
Or pain when I hurt.
I could feel it.
This feeling that was not love.
A little too timid to be passion.
A little to bold to be ignored.
I was disappointed it didn't disappear, or grew.
It just stayed still.
Even after you took off my clothes a few more times.
It just stayed still.
YOU ARE READING
EPIPHANY
Poetry"I'm desperately trying to heal myself." •. •. •. •. •. I strongly believe art isn't supposed to be pretty, or liked and understood by the masses. Art is supposed to make you unco...
