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.
