Wolf

I stopped writing when I started loving you. I haven’t stopped loving you but I am writing again and it is your fault. Which is why I picked up the pen you left on my floor the last time I could kiss you and be positive that you were mine and that I was yours.

You cried wolf with our love. But I didn’t know the wolf was you. So when I ran back to help you I knew the wolf was there but I was never able to see. Until you stopped crying. When you stopped saying I love you. When you stopped saying anything. When you stopped doing everything.

You quit.
You gave up.
You let yourself become the wolf.
And oh, how you still make me cry.
I never wanted to write these kind of metaphors about you.
But you clawed into my chest and held my heart between your fangs just to scare me.
You carried it with you for weeks while I lie there in agony.
You carried it to threaten me. You could never do it though. You could stab it and gnaw it but could never do the dirty work of breaking it.
You made me crawl back to you only to take back my heart and break it for you. Because inside that wolf mentality is still that frightened, cowardly boy who cried for me so many times.
I left the remnants of my heart out for you to gorge on so you could survive.
I will never cry wolf because I know it’s you.
But I will cry
and cry
and cry
And you will only be starving for more of what you lack– heart.