When I Loved You

I think I hated you most
walking through that vintage shop,
when you pulled me into that small room
and in front of that dusty mirror.
You kissed my shoulder, softly
before my lips.
I think I hated you most
when you smiled through that display
at the camera in my hands.
I hated how you reached
for my hands
and my lips
and the way you sang in my ear.
I think I started loving you
when you told me goodbye,
because the love I gave you
and all my pieces
only fed your love for another.
I loved you the morning after
when you said you loved me;
when you lied--
again, and again as if once wasn’t enough.