I don’t necessarily need someone to tend to my wounded heart, but I want someone to baby me and make me feel precious to them if just for a little while.
I like the idea of someone pulling me close to their heart and smoothing my hair.
I feel like my heart is bruised in bed with the covers up over it’s head.
The bruise radiates out to my fingertips and everything I touch burns.
The words left unsaid are stones in my pockets pulling me down into this current of grief deeper than the distance between us.
We both saw what could be and what lit me from within tormented you.
Your brain wouldn’t allow space for the possibility of anything other than the plans you’d made before me.
My brain wanted the comfort and familiarity of your arms.
If only we’d thought with our hearts.
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