I had a pure love once, the only good thing I ever did.
I loved everything about him:
the tilt of his head, the shape of his eyelid.
I loved his veins and his eyes: bluer than blue.
But most of all, I think, I loved his hands
they were stronger than
anything I knew.
But I loved him so much
I couldn’t let myself love him.
So I found myself walking away from
situations where I might have kissed him;
I had to walk away every time.
So I spent my nights alone and crying
and my days keeping him safe from a love like mine.
And there’s no way I’m stronger or wiser;
can’t we just learn from the past?
Love is what causes the most pain.