He Loved Me

He told me he loved me

and I know I love him.

But love, fickle thing, behaves on a whim.

For the love I feel,

I fear isn’t right.

Or at least,

is not the kind he craves in the night.

How could I not love a soul so seeking?

How could I not love,

someone who’s so desperately reaching?

He slipped into my life

when I thought I was sufficient.

There he was, wounded and bleeding

and he called me exquisite.

With an intelligence I admire,

a sweetness I don’t deserve

and a sadness I can’t comprehend–

it’d be foolish to say he’s just a friend.

He didn’t just declare his love.

No–he begged to be loved in return.

In the uncertainty of his voice,

and the scars on his skin–

there was nothing I could do,

but let him in.

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