He was handsome, yes; still is,
However, I could not look him in the eye anymore.
He was the hawk that landed on a bunny that was me,
and gripped my frail body with his talons,
so fragile, so sharp, so prickly.
He was my king; no, he isn’t anymore,
However, I look at him with high regard still.
He was the night that enveloped me
and drank on my anxiety,
suffocating, tightening, dreadful.
He was my haven; no, he left me all alone,
However, I still look out in my windows.
He was the one that got away
and fed on my patience.
I am exhausted, famished; the wait is over.
Sarah is an NYC professional by day, a writer by night. She writes horror and tragic stories, and sometimes, about past lives. Recently, she tried dabbling into poetry. You can email her at firstname.lastname@example.org and you can check out her short stories at sorenlysander.wordpress.com.