If I had Only been Enough

The first time I felt my sorry heart break into pieces on my tear dampened lap, a new feeling washed over my body. It wasn’t anger, hatred, or disgust- but like my soul had been torn from my chest: returned to me in the palm of my hand. Composure; that’s the word- it’s difficult to keep your composure when you can’t breathe, when the clouds overhead are cast aflame. I do want to forgive your guilty face, but each time I look at it, I can’t see the remorse in your eyes, the tears in mine have fallen continuously since then: since I lost whatever spark that we had, and it kills me to admit that I’m tired. No matter where I search, I can’t find you: I can’t find the person I knew before, the one who would “never do such a thing”. It’s eating me alive, the thought of it: your eyes studying her beautiful frame, your mind longing for what’s kept out of reach. The thought of you looking at someone else the way I thought you only looked at me strips the glue from all my broken pieces: I wonder what you see in me at all. Part of me understands why you’d do it: the other half is wishing you hadn’t. All that I wanted was to be enough, to be the one you are afraid to lose. Forgiveness; that’s the word- it’s difficult.