Oh, how I loved him.
I wrote poems of my love for him.
I made art in testament to my devotion.
I honored him to the best of my ability
Until I just couldn’t do it any longer.
Or no response
Or “It’s good. I like it.”
No matter what I did.
At times, I would yell or scream
Desperate for ANY reaction.
But, oh, how I loved him.
I believed that if I loved him
(As he couldn’t through mine)
Through his obvious depression
Eventually, the man I loved so dearly,
I just loved him for a little longer,
A little harder, a little bit stronger,
The man who gave me the stars
(He really did name a star for me),
I would experience the intimate devotion
That I adored when he loved me back.
I loved him with everything I knew
And, for him, it was not enough.
I was too much for him.
I was not enough for him.
I was not worth the effort.
I was too much effort.
But, after I had come from the darkest place I’d ever been,
Love from him was blatantly and obviously absent.
While I had his love near my heart,
I loved him with all my being.
I can forgive myself for believing
In the love I KNOW we shared.
Oh, how deeply I loved him.