Your words are empty.
Filled with half-hearted text.
Meaningless sounds of dead emotions.
Until
you strike me with works of hate.
While my own
form words of love,
of warmth, of want.
My flame continues to burn for you
even after your many attempts to blow it out.
But like a trick candle, it remains lit,
flame rising higher and higher after every blow
Stronger. Forever unmoved.
I meant it
when I said I will always love you.
No amount of anger or hate you threaten me with
could ever pull my love away.
You could restrain me,
but I will sneak a way to display my love
Not just to you,
but to the world.
Blame no one but yourself
for this love monster you have created.
Blame the long nights of bliss and affection
we shared.
The deep, tender kisses from those soft lips, those words of
marry, forever, and internal love
that escaped from that beautiful, warm tongue.
Don’t hate me
for not willingly letting you go
when I was convinced we had so much.
Remain convinced we have so much.
Your words are empty,
but I refuse to believe
that this is permanent.
Your flame may be nothing but smoke now,
but that way,
they won’t can’t remain.
I remain [un]loved.