I’ve never really loved intentionally
It was always something I felt was expected of me
If someone noticed me, I had to reward them with equal favor
It would start out unwanted but welcome,
after all doesn’t everybody want somebody?
I had the right to say I had a past but could never say what happened?
I wish to say it was them and not me but still I always found myself alone
It was continuous and repetitive
My tree of love grew until love became necessary for my nourishment
but I would slowly have to watch the leaves fall to the ground and start all over again
Friends would say it was part of my journey and would lead to more growth
but do trees not tire of reaching for the sky?
Why love is a heaven I can never call home?