It was dark when I reached for you.
Emptiness filled my hands
as I inhaled to find my lungs exhausted
and my heart shattered.
A sacred, midnight breeze
parted my bedroom curtains;
the moonlight illuminated the emptiness of my bed.
I find a lonely pillow saved solely for you.
I wind up reminiscing on dreams that are now
broken promises and a life left unfulfilled
for you; for us; and for me.
I find myself searching for synonyms of heartache.
I settle on antonyms of love.
I ponder,
“What is the meaning of trust?
How do you earn it? How do you learn it?”
I have added to my encyclopedia
titled Lessons Learned,
a chapter called “Trust: How To Lose It.”
Your intentions remain:
unclear, uncertain, confused, and cold—unlike you.
Where have you been and where did you go?
The man I lost is one I no longer know.
Your words hurt like a new tattoo
that I dedicate to you.
Have you forgotten
that you lost me, too?
Did my words hurt you?
My truth of, “I love you.”
Before our final sunset,
we settled on parting ways,
for which I had little say.
I gift you my love and absorb our pain.
For once,
I can say that I did not want it this way.