I was unsuspecting of love.
You sang my name
and reeled me in.
You called me pretty—
my teen self felt seen.

I wanted to write about sadness,
but you turned it into sunshine.

Now I see you,
walking back slowly,
alone.

I stand at the threshold,
waiting to be chosen,
as you did thrice before.

My mind says you are right.
This happens all the time.
Happiness and love is the sky.
You, my dear, are the ground—
ground that is dark,
wet with
buried dreams
of what love could’ve been.