Before, I was angry. I was sad

(I still am), betrayed

disgusted, full of regret.

Alas now I look back and see a different story, I see it for what it was at the time.

I envisioned a different Tallulah. A more naive, innocent, lighthearted,

anxious (with the heartbeat of a small rodent) 

clumsy with her emotions

-feathery Tallulah.

When she was falling in love with a boy - for real this time,

and he was growing fonder of her by the day. 

The Tallulah who had stars in her eyes

whenever she saw him, who admired his actions,

idolized his thoughts.

who's heart swelled at the sound of his poems written for and about her.

For the songs, the notes, the compliments, ... the looks.

Who found him to be the most attractive in any setting, 

a real boy, a man

who wanted her. 

A man who made her swoon, who gave her daydreams,

who stressed her out, who let her wonder...

And this Tallulah, I feel her, she feels

Sad. Sad that her love was cut short,

that her fall was cushioned- no,

halted, landing tough on branches 

instead of in the great pool of water (and milk and rose petals and pearls that spell out

her name).

This Tallulah 

who was proud to hold his arm in public,

like a general home from war in his thick navy blue coat.

She feared his voice and authority, responding 

like a fragile little deer, secretely and abashedly.

Wanting to be rebellious/

But holding an instinct to stay sweet and naive, why?

she doesnt know, shes an actress then as much as i am a comedian now. 

Tallulah with her blonde locks

her little baby face and baby hips. 

Getting wasted and craving any attention from men that aren't him

All in an attempt to keep him, especially him.

Wanting to be detached from Love but ignoring how,

forgetting this is the biggest crime. 

I mourn this realtionship not for me,

but for her.

She cries tonight.

She sobs actully, from her little doe eyes, tears spill

-spilling the fresh spring water you only get to sip once 

when still in youth. 

(an elixir i have yet to lay my hands on ever since).

I cry for her, as an apology.

Because if she can't fall in love tonight,

if she can't lay her hair on her pillow 

without the world running circles and scheming around her,

if she listens to a dark crimson red love song, 

it's because of me.

Its because of my greedy hands that came and plucked her out like a hatchling from its nest. Worse yet, it's sickly pale blue eggshell. 
i apologize to her. She deserved
that sweet, sweet
       milky white,
       innocent, child-like,

       adult impersonating

        first love.