Can you still call it love if it left you afraid to breathe?
Sometimes when it’s quiet,
I think about he who I once loved.
Sometimes while I’m alone,
I think about he who I once feared.
In a moment of fantasy,
I think about what if he’d been kinder,
and what if I had said, “I forgive you”.
Sometimes when it’s silent,
I think about how he would hold me.
Sometimes while angels sleep,
I think about how he would beat me.
In a moment of feebleness,
I think about what if he’d been gentler,
and what if I had said, “Just one more chance”.
Sometimes when it’s eerie,
I think about how he whispered love.
Sometimes while demons wail,
I think about how he threatened me.
In a moment of loneliness,
I think about what if he’d been loving,
and what if I had said, “I still love you”.
—H, still aching in the echo
