This Time Around

What were you hoping for this time?


An old piece of me

sitting on a shelf,

not yet dusted?


Stuck.

Wanting.

Lonely.


Was this what you were hoping for?


If I'm being honest,

I wish I still felt

that way sometimes.

Then maybe this could work.

Maybe this wouldn't be

so hard.


Love,

always complicated,

never full to the brim,

rarely overflowing,

hardly enough.


I always try to make it enough.


I always try to see the man

you could be.


The man I need you to be.


The man you try to be.


Trying isn't being,

and to become something

you're not

rarely happens within a year

or a lifetime.


Why then,

do I keep wishing?


Why then,

do you keep trying?


Someone once told me:


You want a man

who loves you more

than you love him.


I loved you more.

I always did.


Even now,

with time passing,

seasons changing,

the wind warmer,

days longer,

there still remains

one constant.


You never loved yourself

enough

to love me.


You never loved me

enough.



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