Once I was the sensation of driving over a hill,
too fast, in the stomach of a long lost crush.
We all have been, some are to this day.
I was at a time.
I was never told.
Would it have mattered?

Once I was the tears in the eyes of a heart that
that bled when I walked away.
I was protecting myself.
It was a poison, this thought.
A slow death that flows through each one of us
called ³what if?²

What if they took one look with hopeful eyes,
only to be disappointed and drove away
by the image of us that
maks us loathe ourselves.
What if the hearts were merely
two puzzle pieces that did not match?

Once I was the disappointment in the mind of a lover
whom I never loved.
I know they were out there,
somewhere, floating in the black abyss
known as their unspoken wants.
It would have been nice to know.

Once I was the empty side of the bed in the night
that was longing to be filled.
I sit back and wonder sometimes
whether I would have filled it
to meet the desire a lost dreamer had
or even better, could I?

Could I have been the warmth that made them safe
in a world with broken promises and forgotten
or ignored leaps of faith.
Like a bubble gliding slowly
through a garden of cactus
hesitant on where it wants to land.

Once we were the smile on the face of someone
who would have made us complete.
If we would have only took the time to ask them,
³How are you today?², and see them glow.
Self-protection is often self-destruction
and we are ghosts in the hearts of someone
who loved us once, haunting them.



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