My Broken Heart

I listen to sad songs
and read love poetry
to feel heartbreak,
to bring you to the surface.
You said I was amazing.
Did you even mean it?


You made feel loved.
Was it even real?


I know why it ended
and I'm fine with it.


We matched,
but we weren't
a perfect fit.


I'm a good girl,
and you're a bad boy.


But why does it feel
like everything we had
was a lie?


I tricked my own self
into believing in
a future with you.


You painted this image
of who you were
and I bought it.


But what a rude awakening
when I realize that
we just wasted time
on an illusion.

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Starward's picture

I am an old man, sixty this

I am an old man, sixty this coming June, and I experienced something much like this in my (almost) twentieth year.  And she remained the love of my life until I met my second (and present) wife.  Your words are very accurate, and in a very eerie way they describe my experience---even though we are not actually acquainted beyond postpoems.  So I applaud your poem, not only because it speaks to my specific experience, but also because it speaks a general and universal truth that many people experience.