One year ago I gave myself to you.
We laid, tangled in each other's arms– now my bed is empty, and instead of softly chanting your name into your neck, I'm whimpering and crying it into my pillow.
That night I felt so happy, I think I might have cried then too.
You asked me to be yours and I said yes– as if there needed to be an answer! I was already yours, since the day you asked me to be your best friend.
And even though we are strangers now, I'm still yours.
How can that be?
How can one belong to someone when they want nothing to do with you?
You captured me.
Took my heart, my soul.
It's a Stockholm Syndrome.
It would be an understatement to say you broke me.
You did far worse.
I can't hate you.
But I can hate what you do to me.