if i’m not enough for you, you’re not enough for me

Maybe we were both the bad guys.

Maybe I wasn’t present enough, or perhaps you didn’t love me enough.

You were a wishing well I walked by.

I pulled my wallet from my pocket and maxed it out until my last dime, but it wasn’t enough. I also wasn’t lucky enough to have my wishes granted. Every avenue I’d tried had been a dead end, every plea unanswered. Didn’t I pour enough? Should I throw myself in? Headfirst? Was this a cruel joke? Did the well crave sacrifice, not just coins ? Maybe I just poured it all out to the wrong wishing well.

You were a broken compass I found in the attic.

I tried to recalibrate. I didn’t know I didn’t have to adjust my expedition for you. I think I wasted my time trying to wipe the fog out of you. I stormed into my room, I’d even raided my most prized fabrics, convinced a luxurious silk or a rich velvet would somehow clear you out. Turns out you didn’t need the best and most expensive fabric, you just needed the right one. Also, no, your fog wasn’t the problem here. It wasn’t just the compass that was broken, but also my own understanding. It didn’t crave pampering or exorbitant materials. It simply needed the right touch, someone who understood its whispers of north and south. The problem was I think you led me in the wrong direction. I should’ve just got another one.

You were an unrhymed poem.

I was just a starving artist pouring my best words on you.

Rhyming doesn’t make a poem perfect. I should’ve just written a brand new poem on a blank paper. I shouldn’t have written over a scrap poem on crumpled paper. I shouldn’t have spent my last dimes on you. I shouldn’t have wasted my prized fabrics on you. I shouldn’t have written my best works for you. But what can I do? After all, this is just another work written about you.