The First To Say. . .

Let me be the first to say
that nothing about your eyes,
nothing about your laugh,
nothing about your presence,
is settling.
You push me into corners,
make me run, hide, and cry
for some kind of resolution
when you offer no apology
no remorse,
not even an acknowledgement of my existence.
I loved you,
with the most ardent and earnest love,
and I kept no record of your wrongs,
until you crushed me with your words,
crushed me with your two anxious hands,
and now,
months removed,
my bones are still broken,
my heart is still torn up,
and you walk free, just the same.
Let me be the first to say,
that if you could really understand these eyes,
they'd tell you that this is far from over.