Ooops. . . I Spilled My Love!

He writes me letters,
But all I can think about is you.
That’s all I really think about,
Is you.
When I’m alone at home
Or when my mind wanders.
After all this time we haven’t been together,
I still think about you.
Telling others as well as myself,
That I am so over you . . .
Deep down inside even I knew this wasn’t true.
I’m too afraid of rejection to really tell you this myself
He loves that girl Erica
Is my constant reminder not to spill the beans if you know what I mean?

I’m afraid!
Afraid? You may ask.
Yes, afraid!
That you might not feel the same way about me . . .
Or afraid of making a fool of myself.
Desperate is not what I you to see me as.

See me as strong –
For my strength comes from other who are stronger.
See me as potential-
For my mind is potent and my goals are tangible;
Within my reach.
See me as loyal-
For when I’m committed,
I stick with it.
See me as many other character traits . . .
Because my personality is forever blooming.
I do not limit myself to be only one way,
But I can see myself with only one guy.

I see something special in you.
For some reason when you held me, when you kissed me . . .
I really felt love.
It was a feeling I never felt with any other guy.
I mean I search high and low through the bob and the flow for my soul mate.
And did a lot of dumb shit looking for a soul to match.

Sometimes, I can’t even talk about you to my friends
Because they disrespect you and down me for even talking to you.

I just try to justify you hurting me,
Justify you only telling me you love me because she hurt you,
Justify you only calling me because she did something wrong.
I told you, “if you don’t want me then don’t talk to me”.
But in turn that wasn’t what you wanted,
But still you wanted to be wanted to be with her.

I can’t figure you out . . .
It’s killing me inside!
Why hasn’t the love died?
Does it feed on time?
Why aren’t we together?
They say people come in your life for a reason,
A season,
Or lifetime.
Maybe it’s
A reason because we have seen many seasons
Or maybe it’s a lifetime . . .
- Erica Garner