Sunday, July 10, 2011

The value of her love.

He didn't know the value of her love, she gave it to him freely.
She gave him a thousand little things he never noticed.
What now?
When her hands are empty and still he doesn't see her.
All the almost-insignificant things she can't list for him,
piled up now and disregarded like extra napkins and used plastic forks.

When she took his hand, it was the first hand she ventured to take
and when she asked for his kiss
it was the first kiss she ever asked for.
Perhaps time has little value,
but she waited for him to ask for her.
Left days open should he want to see her.
She saved up her pretty words and smiles and little touches.

He didn't know the value of her love.
Didn't know the cost of loving someone for her
when she knows all too well how much they can hurt you when you love them
but she loved him anyway.

He didn't see the beauty in her.
She worked so hard to polish away the rough edges
to be healthy and whole.
She learned how to love herself
so she would believe someone else could do the same.
But he didn't see that. Didn't see her.

He didn't know the value of her love.
But she loved him anyway.
And paid for it in full measure.
And loved him anyway.


Anonymous said...

Amazing beautiful honest. I love Ur blog. I feel the same. I hate life. its like a cruel joke stuck on repeat. I wish I had the guts to off myself. Mbe I will someday soon. I can be free of all this pain and torture.

carlitabay said...

Very feeling poem, easy to relate to.