Here, When I Loved You

Everything felt timeless.

I didn’t fear my darkness,
or your own.

I reached for you in my sleep
your heat — or your cold — 
reminded me of a peace
I never thought I would feel.

I think I gave myself away

to feel safe.

Still, it was beautiful, how we fit together.

But I sent out a message that
I was nothing without you.

In doing so, I destroyed all that we were,
and all that we could have been.

I could not — and cannot — ask you
to love me enough to fill the void

that cripples.

To intertwine is to neglect.
To touch but stay our own is to grow.

I did the only thing I could.

I said goodbye.

I hope you knew that I loved you
because of who you were,
not because of a hollow thirst
I needed to quench.

I hope that here, when I love you (again),
I will love me, too.