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Poem

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?

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