Not Quite an Unrequited Love Poem by Elizabeth Ann Fenton
'Tis True that when your attention left me, our story was a kind of unrequited love.
I struggled to let go. I wanted your attention back.
I wanted you to know as I do now, love is never truly unrequited.
Only stories end.
I love you and it is only one version of the story, where you don't love me too.
The story where I see through rose colored glasses, everything is reflected in a sensuous pink hue.
I wonder why you are are not in awe of the me I saw in you.
I want to introduce you, but your glasses are of a darker shade, and I fade quickly from your view.
The more a shadow is cast upon me, the more I love you.
Like a flower bending its stem to reach the light.
You came to my garden one last time and clipped me at the stem.
For a moment you held me in the light and the fragrance of roses silenced the story.
All at once, and never again. We were the essence of love.
As quickly as you came, you left, tossing the flower over your shoulder.
Oh luminous love, many moonlights from now, our flames will flicker as one.
'Tis but a great mystery still unsolved, but with contentment of self, resolved.
