I really wanted this to be a love poem.
Believe me.
I wanted this to be about love and that awkward first kiss that makes me say, “that just happened!”
I wanted this to be that note written during second grade class that says “I like, like you.”
I wanted this poem to be about you and how perfect you are for me and me for you;
How we could be together and reflect each other like symmetry because you are the mirror image of who I want;
And I would tell you how we could forget that anyone else exists since we are all that really matters.
I wanted us to be like two trees grown close and by time intertwined together as one that could withstand a little wind, right?
I wanted to tell you that I would hold you like the sun holds the moon,
And you’d be drawn through the cosmos to me by the gravitational pull of my arms.
And there in space, the greatness of existence would be lost in the spender of us.
And I wanted this to be an amazing unspeakable feeling vocalized, and I know that that makes no sense, but when you are in love what does?

But I’m not.
And this isn’t a love poem, it’s hate mail because I kinda hate myself for not wanting to want you more.
But if you were mine, I’d probably end up hating you too.
So I’ll put you out of my mind,
But I’ll keep you in my heart,
though you don’t quite fit but it’d be empty anyways.
And maybe one day my heart will come to terms with my mind of how perfect we would have been.