It gets better.
It hurt for a while, a good, long, aching while. It hurt so much I thought I would die, late one night last summer, months after you left, as I wrenched those last barbed pieces of you from my heart.
And now that they're gone, I have to remind myself that you ever existed at all.
YOU ARE READING
𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋
PoetryThis love was cast cruel, this love was not kind. But in all, she still loved him. For with him, love was blind. Poems for the damned. If I am to be hurt, then so must you. Copyright © TheFallOfArtemis
