Intimacy and deprivation
become
Fearful parts of every
child’s existence
Wondering if you’re the one
for them.
Days, months, years go by,
And you’re no longer the one
for them,
You aren’t the one they want
to cry to,
To share the secrets you
used to share.
Stories shared are crumbled
pieces of paper,
Whose existence isn’t
noticed anymore,
Whose meanings lost all
meaning,
Whose life lost all of its
essence.
So head down you trudge on,
Regretting nothing but
mistakes,
And ideas that you thought
were good,
But were told were wrong.
No room to judge for
yourself,
Because you still think she
is perfect,
You still think she is your
world,
And everything in it.
Your dreams are of her hair,
Softly blowing in the wind,
across your cheek, her face
nestled into your very own
chest.
Happiness isn’t anything but
her,
But her happiness falls in
cracks,
That she doesn’t know exist,
And all you want,
—is her happiness.
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