I liked her then, I like her now,
Butterflies in my stomach can’t even begin to describe how she made me feel,
She had me doing things I never thought I’d ever do,
She was different, she is different,
Not like any other I’ve met,
She felt like the last piece of my puzzles I’ve been missing,
But as I revealed my scars, unpacked my bag, and opened my eyes she wasn’t there,
I couldn’t feel her,
Her presence was a mere illusion,
All that it ever was, was just a dream,

…my head and heart she entered again,
She questioned all those I ever encountered,
Questioned where I met those that broke my heart,
Hinted, with bits of sachets, that she won’t walk the path walked by others,
I felt my heart smiling, because it was returning to familiar hands,
Marinated it, prepared it, and handed it over a silver-plater,
English breakfast style,
Placed aside she did,
She didn’t fancy it, yet,
…in the oven I had to place it, prepare it again for her, for next time,

…talked to her again, dwelled on past feelings,
How I messed up, how I was gonna fix things, how I was gonna get her,
As I was yet to date her,
Three days later I hadn’t spoke to her to fix things,
Felt like I didn’t need to because my heart had been broken once too many times,
But I still liked her,
It felt like I did,


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