I Have Heard These Words Before

I have heard these words before I have heard these words before, Though spoken not in spite, But in care for me: “I know her story”, “You deserve better”. But how does her story matter to me? True, it shapes her; it forms her core, Colours her judgment, fuels her fears. Yet she chased me, until I caught her. And is not this all that matters? That she once showed love to me, And tried, yet failed, And could not sustain that love? How should I deserve better? Why should I deserve more than she; And have affection and caring, More so than she, who has none? I have heard these words before, And ask myself “What is better?”. Can “better” bring more happiness? Is another story any more acceptable? But am I ignorant, and know not Of her story, her real story? And if I did, would it difference make, And would I love the less? If my eyes see goodness, Should I not then respond in kind; If I see affection and trust, Should I not respond in kind? And when she flees and is silent, Do I deserve better? Or do I give what love demands, And be there, constant, undemanding, Hopeful of an uncertain future? And does not she deserve better?