i was on the bus and it hit me like a bullet that he could never love me back
in the way i loved him
and i cried like i was mourning;
not in the bittersweet way or in the melancholy way that
yearns and lusts after and has room for hope.
it was the kind of crying that realized all hope was lost, and there was no coming back.
a death.
a hole inside me that would never be filled again.
for once in a blue moon i did not enjoy crying.
Copyright 2017 Golden Star Poetry
Golden Star Poetry 