On Falling

You told me I was beautiful
so damn often
I believed it.

You told me I was smart
so damn often
I believed it.

You told me I was amazing
so damn often
I believed it.

So soft-spoken are you,
that I hang onto each syllable,
that swan dives off of your tongue.

I crave your similes and metaphors,
like an age-old druggie,
craves their heroin.

I know it will destroy me,
to love you,
but I do so willingly.

Your dark hair and hazel eyes,
your freckles and your infectious smile,
are enough to ensnare me.

I hate writing love poetry,
but the only other way,
was to dig the words out of my veins.

But I will carry on,
dragging the burden of loving you,
through the winter snow.

Maybe, come springtime,
you will reach for me,
when you start to fall.