Park Benches and Polaroids

If You Hadn't (part one)

My floor was

littered with photos

and pieces of old writing

remnants of my lost love

and all my tears.

That was how you met me.

You had felt

nothing for

a full year --

it was all messy 

and pain.

That was what you told me.

Your writings were

large words and eloquent speech;

sending me your

black pen scribbles of missing a

projected love and protection for,

and confusion on

your own self

and the way you think

and your dreams

nightmares

everything.

I would read them when you let me,

comment on them

relate to them

wonder who and what

your words were about.

You wrote your soul

and showed me some pieces.

***

I had not felt

happy

in over a year.

My hair was gold and

I spoke in babbles and rivers

flowing of emotions to try

and convey it to you,

to show you my pain, please, empathize, let me be free,

to you

who would listen

who would hold me

who made me feel

understood.

I loved you

the moment I truly met you.