When I said I loved you, I should have tattooed your name on my chest in place of my mother’s.

When I said I loved you I should have consistently sent handwritten letters.

When I said I loved you and wanted a better life for you I should have paid for your therapy sessions or introduced you to the ever-healing ‘grandmother’.

Instead of telling you how much I still loved you after a big fight, I should have pulled you closer to feel my warmth but I slept away from you and created doubt.

When you told me I wasn’t paying you any attention I should have spent less time on my phone and given you my full attention. Instead, I went on IG to post a picture of you.

When you told me you missed me and wished I was right there in the room. I should have booked a flight that minute instead of just saying I missed you too.

When I said I loved you we should have made mini versions of us to have physical proof of said love.

Now, all that remains are the messages and the fleeting words that occasionally revisit my memories but only for a brief moment.



To my next lover-
I’ll borrow Zeus’ strength and Autolycus’ trickery to extract all the love in heaven to mend your heart. Then maybe you will have enough to reciprocate my love. I will sing your praises and courageously make sacrifices. For if I had a son I would give him up like God did or act faster than Abraham and not wait around for any voice to fuel my hesitance. Everything will be alright again.  If it isn’t enough and my lover still feels cold from previous trauma I’ll burn the world to give her the slightest warmth.

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