You sit there,
eyes, large, like weathered
stones at the bottom of a river.
They seem so much deeper than your heart,
seems like there's so much more feeling than the mere ounce of compassion
you hold within your soul.
You scowl, and I am forced back into the present, where I'm supposed to
hate you.
You, my first love, the only one whom I confided in, the only one I told
the reasons of my tears.
You, who held my hand, on that cloudy day, all the way down those railroad
tracks to the magical spot of our first kiss.
You, who never noticed the pure love behind my eyes as I whispered to you
of how much I had thought of you that day.
I don't want you to see me as evil, as the one that you can't help but
I never believed, no matter how many times I heard the words simply
uttered....that first love always hurts. In one way or never
ends up right.
I curse myself for falling deep into water of your unwelcoming soul...and
yet I can never curse you. Can never spit the words that you believe I have
already spoken.
So forever I wish to hate you, my first love, my cursed love, and still all
I will ever see is beauty....impossible, everlasting beauty, blinding me
from what I want with veil of my first love.