saccharine promise in
autumn's return, for
the crumpled leaves
cascading from branch
through apricot sun
taught me that
we too can shed
all things outgrown
and still be
born again."
This blog will be updated with various forms of literature. Every piece is written by me, Courtny LeGay (unless I am granted rights to post others', then I'll give credit), and is protected by copyright law.
You never look at me except in frustration. You bask in my warmth. You cy when I leave, but never search for me. On days I am mute, you complain. On days I am at my strongest, you hide. You never look at me until I am walking away, and in the beauty of the setting sun, you wondered how you never seen me before.
It is a lonely feeling when you are aching for the connection. When you feel it buzzing in your heart and you cannot release it. It pulses with each passing day. But all you can do is wait.
Sit back and admire them in silence. Let your heart swell with longing.
Daydreaming. Pondering.
I see your soul. It is so, so bright. I want to touch it like it touches mine. You are genuine, pure. A rare person. Your smile pours life in me.
But my love is not given freely. So I will wait. I will be patient for you. I will not make the same mistake. You have earned my trust, but my love is limited.
You were something else. Something I had never seen before. Your soul was bright. Almost as bright as your smile and your eyes. I drank in your words like fresh water. They were so full of wisdom and happiness. I wish you would have spoken more. Your outlook on life was so foreign. You changed my perspective on so many things by taking my mind to better turns. I yearned for our conversations, our banters and your laughter. Our moments together were indescribable. Unreplaceable.
But now all is empty. You left me raw. Open. And afraid. You have made my walls thicker. The top is unreachable. I cannot love like that again. Trust is scoffed at. When you reach out, I feel as if I need to break my own hand. Before touching yours.
I hold on.
It is tearing me a part.
I am suffering.
It is bitter.
Souring, curdling in my mouth.
A blister in my throat.
It is hard to move past it.
I grit my teeth.
I am suffering.
Because you have hurt me.
It seeps through my pores.
It burns.
I will never forget what you did.
Because it scarred me.
I am suffering.
I am on the hook.
I feel it piercing my core.
Because I am holding on.
"The only person who is on the hook when we hang on to resentment is ourselves. We are the ones who are suffering." J. Kristina