i am three weeks and two days into the love He promised me

and i still wonder why i am already daydreaming

about the last time my hands will ever be intertwined with His

why instead of falling for Him

i am falling faster for the sound of the door

being slammed shut behind me as i walk away from him

why i often find myself missing the comfort of loving arms

when I am right between his.

i am three weeks and two days into the love i thought i needed

and He keeps handing me pieces of myself

that He believes i have lost on my way to him.

i take them with trembling hands

placing them in all the wrong places

until i am a painfully complete puzzle

with yet still too many spaces to fill.

You made me forget the way i was ever whole and complete before You

and now i am three weeks and two days into the love You left for me to fix,

but i still haven't written Her a poem yet

because you had me believing that my poetry is what broke us

now my boy says i am poetry

in all the ways i manifest my existence in this universe

except he only says it when i

look

 like i have more than just my words to give him

my boy loves me wordless

because he's always been of man of action.

see, my words would have said something

my words would have fought back

but i left them with You back when i still thought they mattered

back when You were the only place i could rest my poetry in.

see, i poured the best parts of who i am into your heart

thinking that i would finally run through your veins

but i was left dry.

my words

they would have shouted in all the poetry they had been shaped into

that this is not what love is supposed to feel like

but my boy loves me silent

so i push my verses to the back of my throat.

I'm three weeks and two days into

love

and..what was it that you said?

we are foolish, and we lose ourselves until it gets old

until we can no longer talk about it

but we are also young, and there will always be worse things to lose

there will always be worse things to lose than our own damn selves.