I loved it when you put flowers in my hair. The soft summer breeze, the scent of spider lilies dancing in the dust.
I loved it when you called me your princess.
I loved it when you called me your Queen.
I loved it when
I loved you.
I picked a corpse flower and wove it into your hair.
It was beautiful.
You were beautiful.
You adjusted your glasses and you laughed. “Doesn’t this make me look silly?”
I took your hand. “No. I think...I think you look cute.”
“Let’s stay like this forever.”
But you chose someone else. You chose him . The artist; the one who painted his love onto a canvas. The one who, in the end, both built your palace and stole your heart.
You chose someone else, and perhaps I can, in time, forgive you.
The one I’ll never forgive is myself.
Because, in the end, I didn’t steal your heart.
You stole mine.