l o v e ?
i carved a letter into the dirt one day,
i think we had only turned seven,
and i asked you to be in love with me.
i didn't know what it meant, at seven.
but you did, and you said you wouldn't.
i drew another letter to you the next day,
i think we just turned eleven,
and i asked you what love was.
i still didn't know, at eleven.
but you did, and you wouldn't tell me.
i penned a letter to you again in a few weeks,
i think we were now sixteen,
and i asked you why you didn't love me.
i didn't know you were with an older boy, at sixteen.
but you were, and you couldn't tell me about love.
i sent a text to you a month or two ago,
i was twenty one and so were you,
and i asked if you still loved the older boy you told me about.
i didn't know that he hit you, and you left him even though you had no where to go.
but you didn't love him, and you didn't reply to me.
i wrote an email to you today,
i'm now thirty-three,
and i asked if you had any love at all.
i didn't know you were asking for me everywhere.
but i didnt send it,
because i knew what love was,
and you never did.
isn't that lovely?