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Description
I'm sorry your blanket softness was met by someone who didn't care for making beds.
And mistook your Love
and the ache to warm them from the Harshest winters,
as a problem.

When they were always the Answer for you.
when you thought they felt the same.

Only to realize Now,
That the sheets have always been cold on one side
And you slept together,
but still felt alone.

It hangs on puffed rosemary cheeks, this epiphany fit for an epitaph,
                 That maybe
the thermostat wasn't what was broken.

What follows is haunting silence,
   that they might've loved if only they had stuck around
Because the drum-like laughter, that shook bones and turned my sternum into storm clouds,
doesn't echo like it use to,
As if Loudness is something to be ashamed of. (as if joy should be contained)

Maybe you were made of clay
and let every caress Behold you,
Too soft, too pliant, too derserving of every cushioned darkness that found you while you slept.

And they were only after Dawn,
Cursing every curtain
that only brought you Rest.

Maybe you weren't made of Stone
because pain's not in your Nature.
a gentle hand that never striked
because bruises weren't mean for jewelery.

If we're liquid based, water dependent beings,
    And they thought your tears too much,
Then is it wrong to be Human?
Were you really at fault?

You're soft and much too kind,
To feel so stupid. To think you aren't enough.

I'm sorry it went wrong.
I'm sorry they couldn't love you.

But you have Nothing to be sorry about.

Description
I'm sorry your blanket softness was met by someone who didn't care for making beds.
And mistook your Love
and the ache to warm them from the Harshest winters,
as a problem.

When they were always the Answer for you.
when you thought they felt the same.

Only to realize Now,
That the sheets have always been cold on one side
And you slept together,
but still felt alone.

It hangs on puffed rosemary cheeks, this epiphany fit for an epitaph,
                 That maybe
the thermostat wasn't what was broken.

What follows is haunting silence,
   that they might've loved if only they had stuck around
Because the drum-like laughter, that shook bones and turned my sternum into storm clouds,
doesn't echo like it use to,
As if Loudness is something to be ashamed of. (as if joy should be contained)

Maybe you were made of clay
and let every caress Behold you,
Too soft, too pliant, too derserving of every cushioned darkness that found you while you slept.

And they were only after Dawn,
Cursing every curtain
that only brought you Rest.

Maybe you weren't made of Stone
because pain's not in your Nature.
a gentle hand that never striked
because bruises weren't mean for jewelery.

If we're liquid based, water dependent beings,
    And they thought your tears too much,
Then is it wrong to be Human?
Were you really at fault?

You're soft and much too kind,
To feel so stupid. To think you aren't enough.

I'm sorry it went wrong.
I'm sorry they couldn't love you.

But you have Nothing to be sorry about.