He loves me

He loves me not

He loves me. His soft eyes watching. His hand outstretched. That smile I can’t forget. Completely perfectly imperfect.

He loves me not. Another in his gaze. Her hand in his. A smile only for her. Completely imperfectly perfect.

He loves me. Whispered secrets. A laugh that’s joy itself. A bond so unreal. Completely ours to hold.

He loves me not. For it’s not my ear that hears the whispers. Not my own that receives the laugh. A bond non existing. Completely theirs to hold.

He loves me. Every childhood memory ours. A promise sacred with truth. Completely mine to love.

He loves me not. Childhood simply a memory in the past. The promise straining over time till it breaks. Completely mine to never love.

Now the flowers in her hand, petals full. My own without. Just a stem falling. Completely, utterly, empty.