How’d you stitch a heart that you helped tear and stab, break into pieces; all while you were supposed to help him collect the pieces strewn across.
It’s like a pit in your stomach, you hurt the one person you promised yourself you wouldn’t, one person that’s your world, one person that’s your favourite! Yet, here you sit, cradling their heart in a crib and feeding it honeycomb cookies trying to not hurt them more – perhaps, that’s where you went wrong? You fed them cookies while all they wanted was to feed on you?
How would you explain to him that they are all that matter to you? They are all they’d wished for? They are the reason you’d dare to fall in love again? They are the reason you smile.
If in the process of loving them, you’d make them feel they weren’t enough for you — were you loving them right, loving them enough? Even though when you said they were more than just enough, it were just words to them, your actions weren’t convincing enough?
This would perhaps be the time to buckle up, and love him like there’s no tomorrow and no one but him.
Spoil them enough with your love that’d it won’t happen again, that they’d not have to cry themselves to sleep because they aren’t enough for you, they won’t have to turn their face away — that you’d be incomplete and hiding if not for them
This one’s not an apology, it is someone who’s realising she should have fed her lover with love and not honeycomb cookies, and telling him she’s craving him in all ways one can — she’s regretting things not done and said, things she did do and say. It’s her wishing for him, it’s her wanting him, it’s her needing him. It’s her, telling him she didn’t intend to pierce his heart with a knife — it’s her, telling him, “I know I fucked up — but, it won’t happen again and I’d love you more than I have, you’ll see it’s changed for the better not the worse it’d seems like”.
Perhaps, acting on words would tell how does one patch up a heart they broke and tore when they should have been helping gather the strewn pieces.
This one’s for the boy whose making me want him in ways I wouldn’t want anyone else, want him and only him; for the boy from the coffee shop, the one with his warmth and wicked smile.