if your hand could reach inside my heart,

what would you do with it?

you painted me pictures of heaven

as fresh as the spring walks we went on

as warm as the hugs you gave me

as sweet as the kisses we shared

holding hands turned into family dinners

and what stayed was the way that my head just so perfectly fit in that one spot on your shoulder

i tried to stay distant and take things slow

yet somehow you found your way into my heart

you traced it with your fingertips softly

had me giving in

then tore it out of my chest

getting away with it

i‘ve heard a little while ago that

this is not about what i feel for you

but about what i can’t feel for anyone else

and isn’t it naive to think i could never like someone the way i liked you?

isn’t it naive to see this for the best i could ever get

when clearly i deserve nothing less than what i‘m willing to give?

if your hand can reach inside my heart

i don’t want to have to beg you to

see me,

choose me,

and love me

if your hand reaches inside my heart

i don’t want to feel like i‘m addicted to the drug holding your name,

falling into the misery of withdrawal when i feel us crumbling again

it has been seven weeks now and i am learning

realizing you’re not being cherished is what stabs you,

accepting you’ve never even been appreciated is the slow death that follows