Come Back to Me

Come Back to Me

Oh, it is one year today—

I painted her name across the pub floor

with my tears.

An event that carved into my loving soul

a meaning I once believed belonged only to TV series:

to be everything for someone

who sees you as nothing;

to want nothing in life

but the voice that says, I’ll take you back.

When you leave your heart

in someone else’s hands,

you will beg to become a third wheel

to a love you once owned.

It wasn’t betrayal that loosened my wail,

but the realization

that I lived inside a grand façade—

every moment shared

with your vainglorious heart.

A year of reflection taught me this:

I was a fool, drunk on infatuation,

doing everything

just to call you mine.

All the times you made me feel complacent,

the warmth your malice pretended to give,

the laughter as I played with your hair,

the nights I burned oil

just to paint your image—

you were everything I wanted.

I still love you.

By now, you should have a stack

of my weekly letters.

You won’t read them,

but every week

you still see my name

on that lifeless mail.

Perhaps you’ll grow tired.

Perhaps remorse will find you.

Perhaps pity will touch you

when you look at what you made of me.

I am nothing to myself,

but all for you.

I didn’t spend the year healing—

I spent the year longing.

I would walk through a thousand heartbreaks

for the chance