Our love Was just a warzone. It was my bombs first, Which you were infatuated with. Then yours came second. Bonded by trauma, Rooted in lust, Our love damaged me. Because I fell for the idea of you And you were happy with all of me. Except me. You ignored my soul, For the touch of my breasts. You absorbed nothing, When I gleamed about everything. I yearned for your connection, Not just your sexual anecdote. Our passions meter Had been out for far too long, It was far too dry, And far too empty. My healing came naturally, Though I winced with every memory. Your healing, You fled from. Which in turn, Left me stranded. Longing. Waiting. Hoping. That maybe my idea of you Would become you And that we could simply be Everything We had dreamed.
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