𝗣𝗼𝗲𝘁 𝗠𝗲 𝗔 𝗣𝗼𝗲𝗺

Dear First Love

A face never forgotten,

good times almost cliché,

but it's twist as clever as always:

The hero actually being the villain.

Ah, first love,

I uttered I love you,

and you so hesitantly said it back,

a frown over your face,

yet kindness on your tone.

You listened to my everything,

over and over,

for it meant you'd never had to open up yourself,

and a simple wack over my head would stop my questioning.

Dear First Love,

did you think I'd stay after four times of the same thing?

I thought I would have,

yet the acidity of your presence let my eyes pry open and see the reality of this pain.

First Love,

I can't call you that no more,

for I was never truly in love with you,

and was only infatuated by the image of you in my head.

I never got to know you,

as you learned every detail of me,

how could I fall in love with a person,

I didn't even know?

Even in intimacy,

I still felt like I was with someone I didn't know,

a stranger to my emotions,

yet a friend to my desires.

Dear First Love,

apologies in advance,

for it seems I never loved you,

see, I've forgotten your name,

and your voice doesn't taunt my nightmares anymore.