A quarter after four, I found myself asking the dead of the night, when did this pain in my chest become such a normal part of my life that, I was able to live without feeling it. I found myself carrying on with my life like nothing has happened; nothing has happened. You didn't break my heart. You didn't crush it in the palm of your hands and pretended like you were a self-proclaimed angel sent from the heavens to fix this poor soul. You didn't fill me whole to the brim with hope until I was spilling over, time and again. You didn't do anything, and nothing has happened. Just that, I am drunk on your love and the idea of us.
It takes two, to mimic the sound of a clap and it certainly takes two to make a fire. This fire that is within me, the one which has been named the light of love certainly took the both of us to make, but why is it that you forsake it halfway and claimed to have been a lone ranger all along? Was the dark in me beyond salvage? I will never know, but I will never stop asking, unlike you who stopped loving a little way down the road. And that's the sorrow, that you didn't do anything. To save us, to keep me. And nothing has happened, just that, I am drunk on your love and the idea of us.
A quarter after four, I found myself asking the dead of the night, how did I let you burn me with just a single touch.
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Speak
PoetrySpeak is a compilation of spoken word poetry that centers around voicing the deepest and hardest emotions we feel as a human. All Rights Reserved © Hussein Ali 2017 "His mistake was loving me. Mine was being unable to love me."
