My love for you was so quiet. It hung back,
in the white noise of my heartbeats; it climbed
in the guest bedroom window;

it stepped up behind me and
tapped me on the shoulder, so gentle.
My love for you was nothing like you were–

bright and brash and bigger than any room
you ever stepped into. We fell into kissing,
a little clumsy, a little cocksure,

and it was nothing like fireworks.
Kissing you was like coming home after
leaving the door unlocked, and finding

everything exactly where I left it.

Kissing you was like never leaving home at all.
My love was so gentle, so soft, so open-armed,
that it didn’t ache–not even a little–

that we never finished what we started.
So you didn’t love me back
and I didn’t mind it.

Because I carried a love like swing sets in sunlight,
and you rocked my whole world
just by being a part of it.