HE FORGOT
I asked him softly, why this love for me?
Why now, this sudden tenderness I see?
You kiss me like you’ve longed for years,
But treat me cold—then disappear.
Your hands, your breath, your aching touch,
All scream of longing, needing much.
Yet I, I wonder what it’s worth—
This passion dressed in quiet hurt.
So I asked him, Why this storm of grace?
When daily you erase my place?
Why now, this hunger, this gentle plea,
When mostly you seem void of me?
And then he spoke—
A silence split—
His words, a dagger where I sit.
He said, I’m sorry, soft and low.
And I asked, Sorry? What for though?
He paused. A breath.
And then he lied—
Or worse than lies, he simply sighed.
He said, I forgot.
Forgot…
Forgot that I was undeserving.
Forgot that love should be preserving.
Forgot that what he gave to me
He thought belonged to somebody
More worthy, less broken, more whole—
Not me, not this half-fractured soul.
And I shattered.
Not loud—just still.
For how do you protest a will
That loves you once, but not for real—
That kisses lips it doesn’t feel?
So here I stand,
His “sorry” bare,
A fool draped in forgotten care.
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