You don’t love me
I don’t know what this is
What is this cruel mockery of love
That you call love
Which compelled you to place me as the Sun of your sky
Only to backtrack and dismiss me as just another star
(Your good mornings are now good evenings)
Is it not enough that my light sustains all life on the Earth?
(You used to walk me to my car)
Perhaps you imagine yourself in another solar system; one with brighter stars
(You said you would wait till I was ready)
I don’t recognize your love
(The glaring silence when I asked what you love about me)
The love I know cherishes
(My sisters hold me up when I’m weary)
The love I know is consistent
(My mom always asks if I made it home alright)
The love I know warms me
(My aunties beam when they speak of me)
It is an honor to love me
(You spent Christmas with my family, but now we are getting too serious)
What do you feel for me?
I don’t know but it does not feel like any love I’ve known
I am scared to tell you I love you
Scared that I do love you
Because my love will overfill your cup
But I suspect your well is dry
About the Creator
The Light Turns
It's Tuesday 7:13 a.m. A cold and clear November morning awaits Ray on his morning commute. Ray rubs his hands together in the front seat of his Subaru. He turns the air temperature up, but keeps the air on low until the air warms up. He looks at the backup camera screen and reverses the Subaru out of his driveway onto Trimble Road.
By John R. Godwinabout 18 hours ago in Fiction
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