I Died That Day
I died that day. The day you told me that
you didn’t love me anymore.
I died when I heard
that you were in love
with someone else.
Someone who was less than I was.
Had she been more beautiful,
smarter or wittier, the blow
might not have stung.
She was none of these things.
All she was was a warm body
on a cold, cold night.
I could have been that.
But you wouldn’t let me
under the covers to warm you.
Instead, you ran away.
Not for someone better.
Not for someone smarter.
Random Gemini | 
August 18, 2006 7:45 pm
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