Desolate

I want to text him again
Call him again
Have that same night
Where he knew I was great (for him)
And we saw the good in each other

But I was always too much for him
And I loved him too much
And in letting him go
I never really did

And Three, Four years later
Sometimes I wake up
With the bittersweet memories
Like wounds in the heart
That remind me that I am capable of Love
But only in the past

Desolate

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