To Love Blindly
Why do you constantly keep saying you love me?
What did I ever do or say to make you feel that way?
There has never been an intimate moment between us.
We have never passionately kissed or embraced each other.
We never walked holding each other’s hands like lover’s do.
What have I ever done or you think I did to deserve your love?
How can you stand there and say that you love me?
You are either crazy or just another liar.
In either case, I know you will hurt me.
How could I possibly believe in you?
I can see you, hear you, and touch you,
but there is no way you can be for real.
I am too broken to take a leap of faith.
My heart has lied to me far too often.
I can no longer trust my own feelings.
If you do really love me, you must be a fool
I am too damaged to be loved by anyone.
A true heart would be wasted on me now.
I am a bundle of doubts and fears
wrapped in a blanket of insecurity.
Why would anyone want to love me?
The shattered heart captures the caring eyes
of the one capable of seeing a beautiful heart
reflected in the smallest of shards left behind
in the consuming wake of false love’s savage fury.
The one who sees a heart once full of passion
flailing in the rapids of sorrow desperately
grasping for any reason to believe in love again.
The one with hands strong enough to pull
it free from the perilous fate that awaits.
The one who sees great beauty in imperfection,
who thinks a ravaged heart is worth saving,
who believes that it can be restored to splendor,
who blindly loves not what it has become,
but all it could be.
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