To love,

What of me? Who could’ve given the world in a heartbeat but wasn’t worth even a moment’s truth. He tears up letters from strangers, yet mine— the one with my name, my soul— he leaves it unanswered, as if silence could be kinder than a no. And still… when I see him— my chest forgets how to stay calm, my breath forgets I moved on, my heart— oh, my stupid, lovely heart— chants his name like it’s gospel. This love—my first— wasn't shared, wasn't returned, wasn’t even acknowledged. But it was pure. God, it was pure. And maybe… just maybe… that's what hurts the most.