The Lover’s Feast

For years she mistook longing

for love,

The ache of yearning became

An almost-pleasant solution to romanticism.

 

You should have told her loving doesn’t

Hurt this much,

That she did not have to tolerate fingers pressed

Into her wounds.

That always yearning, never questioning

Is not the twenty-first century romance.

That emotion is not a cocoon

Wrapped around to save from nakedness.

That “love hurts” is bullshit.

 

But she’s fallen in love with infatuation.

She’s aroused by the distance between them

She has forgotten all the answers,

Left sweet and bitter

Like rotting fruit.

 

You should have told my darling

That love shouldn’t hurt like this

That disappointment is not a lover’s feast

That her emotions are not a one-way inconvenience

You should have told my darling

Love was never meant to be unrequited.

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