A Blatant Rip-off of Pablo Neruda

I loved him and sometimes he loved me too.

Through nights like this one, blurred through the lens of intoxication,

Slurring sweet nothings, words forgotten by morning.

He loved me sometimes, and I loved him too.

How could one not love the look in his eyes?

Softened by spirits, but in my mind untethered,

walls withered, a soul exposed.

To think I never had him.

Impossible to hold, dripping from the cracks in my fingers.

A fire I built from longing,

A withering ember I struggle to shield from what spills from his glass.

To hear the whispers of strangers and friends,

They know more of him than I can.

What does it matter that my love could not keep him?

He has chosen other than me, and that is all that will follow.

Another’s. He will be another’s.

She will love him, and sometimes he will love her too.