there is a poem I wrote more than a year ago. Something that was for someone. An unrequited love who was intimate and sharing and all the great stuff. But only on her terms. Only when she needed me. And only as a ‘friend’. No this is not a ‘nice guy’ or a friend zone post. We were more than friends. More intimate than friends. But by calling us friends she got to minimize what we were and make it easier for her to treat me as disposable, I think, anyway. I never really understood the point of lying to yourself about important things. I wrote this and she was not interested in hearing it. So it sat on a shelf. Really a text file on my phone until I thought of the perfect last line today.
It was all about how I loved her and wanted her in my life, how I saw specific things about her and about us and all that jazz. But really, i was just a toy to her. Or I don’t know what. But it wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t good.
But I’m not sharing the poem.
Instead, I’m just sharing the last line. Because the last line says it all.
I love you
beyond your desire
to love me back