Silly girl,
so easily fooled
and so reluctant to let go.
Do you often find yourself filled?
With love, I mean.
Once love is inside
it's so hard to get it out.
But suddenly you're gone.
You return to find yourself...
insignificant.
And you suppose
that maybe that's the way
things have to be for you.
Yet I wonder
if you pity yourself more
when you're writhing in the throes of despair
or wallowing in dreadful happiness.
There are a few
(one or two)
clarifications for you and I.
First, for me:
I cannot see
how you and he
cannot be
utterly
miserable.
And now for you:
Don't fall back
on your lack
of compassion.
He's never coming back.

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