I Might’ve

I might’ve loved you, perhaps,

when the fireweed was blooming in fall

and the trees became a swirling mess

of fire.

I might’ve loved you then,

when the snow fell in winters gone by,

or in hot, dusty summers.

I might’ve loved you, before

our words splattered the walls

like blood in the crime scene of

our romance, and

amidst the apologies that littered the floor

lay two broken hearts,

still beating,

still lonely,

still wanting to believe in the fairytale,

not the awful reality.

I might’ve loved you better,

had I known could be better,

myself.

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