To every last one of you that
lured my reluctant heart out
from a place of no danger.
Every one of you
that sweet-talked your way
through cracks in my resistance
with your pretty notions of always.
You, who coaxed down my walls;
took a sledgehammer to the
only defence I could muster
with promises of love in spite
of all of me.
To every last one of you
that encouraged me to want
for something beyond my reach –
who made me believe it
was all possible;
had me hooked,
then walked away like it was nothing at all –
like I was nothing at all.
Like you didn’t owe me a damn thing…
Fuck you for that.
You squander my time like it’s nothing;
an extraneous entity, to consume as you please.
Yet here you are again, come with hands held out,
looking to get you s’more.
But baby, I’ve no more for you.
For any of you.
No energy for empty connections;
no words in my vernacular
for one more meaningless exchange.
I’ve not one more minute to spend
giving a fuck that I’m wondering
why I even give a fuck.
Someone can be madly in love with you and still not be ready. They can love you in a way you have never been loved and still not join you on the bridge. And whatever their reasons you must leave. Because you never ever have to inspire anyone to meet you on the bridge. You never ever have to convince someone to do the work to be ready. There is more extraordinary love, more love that you have never seen, out here in this wide and wild universe. And there is the love that will be ready.
– N. Waheed