betrayals came in like tides

i can feel myself toeing 
the precipice of love,
about to fall over.

You shoot me in the leg and then complain that I’m still limping 

When I told you ‘I love you more’ I didn’t know I was telling the absolute truth

Even after he stabbed me in the back, I kept rambling on
apologizing for my blood on his hands

To recover and remember

To not forgive and forget

I was a rainbow, but you were colorblind

Love never dies a natural death. 

It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. 

It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals.

It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

—

Anaïs Nin