I Loved You

I loved you, I did.

I loved you like autumn leaves, dying, forsaken and fallen, love the wind which bequeaths them the power to finally move, to fly, even as the life dries up in them.

I loved you like mountains love to worship the sky, for that’s all they know and wish to reach for.

I loved you like waterfalls love to cascade down those mountainsides, consoling mountains for failing to pierce the sky by providing them with endless rainbows.

I loved you like pen loves paper, like ink loves characters and depictions because it’s all they were meant to be. I lament how one is nothing without the other.

I loved you like Icarus, in his final moments, clearly loved the certainty of the scorching embrace of the day-bringer and thought little of how its certainty spelled a watery coffin.

I loved you like darkness, the very oldest thing to exist, loves light, which gives it meaning it had not on its own.

I loved you like knives love to be held and even more how they adore being the instrument of severance.

I loved you like poison loves death by bleeding orifice or constricted airway, like spears love piercing flesh, like arrows love finding their mark and like the church loves to be cognitively dissonant.

I loved you like flame loves to lick and consume wood. I loved you like flame also loves ember and ashes, even though they mean there is flame no more.

I loved you like dead and dying stars love human eyes, for even as they imploded, sputtered out and perhaps became singularities, they still show their faces in our night skies for millennia after crossing the veil.

I loved you, I did.