I loved him for his touch
For those eyes that shied away so easily. For those lips that told me I deserved more.
Maybe it was the way he closed his eyes when he played Bob Dylan songs.
Possibly it was those times when he called me sexy and pulled me back into his arms.
I loved him for all the times we laid on the bed, on sand, and on everything in between. I loved him for the way he smelled of old spice and musky-maleness.
I loved him just because.
I can’t explain it any other way.
He left.
He left when I could have used the most love. It took the deepest pain, mixed with his absence, to realize I do not need to love him, to fill my heart any longer.
I fill my heart.
I love me for how I stroke my own hair. For my hazel green eyes that gaze back at me in the mirror. For my slightly pink lips and the smile they produce. For the fact that I can’t get through a Bond movie without wanting to be Bond, not the Bond girl. Or maybe it’s the jokes I make in my head that no one will ever hear.
Maybe it is how I close my eyes when I listen to Bob Dylan songs.
Possibly it is those times when I fall onto my bed after a difficult day, feeling strong.
I love me for the times I’ve sat alone on beds, beaches, and tree branches. I love me for the way people smile at me.
And when asked, I always have a colorful answer.
I love me just because in the end, I am all I have. The best part is that there is no worst part.
Somewhere along the way I’ve taken back my heart without forgetting the times I loved.
For those eyes that shied away so easily. For those lips that told me I deserved more.
Maybe it was the way he closed his eyes when he played Bob Dylan songs.
Possibly it was those times when he called me sexy and pulled me back into his arms.
I loved him for all the times we laid on the bed, on sand, and on everything in between. I loved him for the way he smelled of old spice and musky-maleness.
I loved him just because.
I can’t explain it any other way.
He left.
He left when I could have used the most love. It took the deepest pain, mixed with his absence, to realize I do not need to love him, to fill my heart any longer.
I fill my heart.
I love me for how I stroke my own hair. For my hazel green eyes that gaze back at me in the mirror. For my slightly pink lips and the smile they produce. For the fact that I can’t get through a Bond movie without wanting to be Bond, not the Bond girl. Or maybe it’s the jokes I make in my head that no one will ever hear.
Maybe it is how I close my eyes when I listen to Bob Dylan songs.
Possibly it is those times when I fall onto my bed after a difficult day, feeling strong.
I love me for the times I’ve sat alone on beds, beaches, and tree branches. I love me for the way people smile at me.
And when asked, I always have a colorful answer.
I love me just because in the end, I am all I have. The best part is that there is no worst part.
Somewhere along the way I’ve taken back my heart without forgetting the times I loved.
