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What You Left Behind

I’ve no more love to give

By Colleen MillsteedPublished 2 years ago 2 min read
What You Left Behind
Photo by Volkan Olmez on Unsplash

I remember all the best parts of our love

As I lay here with another, that is not you,

All I can give them now, is a kiss goodnight

Nothing more, that’s the best that I can do.


I awake each morning, it’s like I’ve forgotten

That you had so very recently walked away,

Then the memory hits, comes crashing down

Of how I begged and pleaded for you to stay.


Now all I can feel is my tender heart aching

No one to talk to, such a fool my family say,

But there’s always that one candle burning

For you, the one true love that got away.


Enough time has passed for you to return

If you had any such inclination to do so,

My heart needs to fully accept this sad truth

That it is obvious to all, only my brain knows.


So now day by day my life has become empty

As week after week continually roll into one,

I wonder often what you’re feeling, so proud now

Of the pain and damage, that you alone have done.


I’m pretty sure that I no longer enter your thoughts

You said it’s over, so I am out of sight, out of mind,

Oh, I sure do wish it was that easy, here on my side

Instead of the heartache and suffering combined.


If you were to come on back, within the next few days

I wouldn’t allow you too, as my heart will not forgive,

I have drowned my love for you, with every tear spent

Now I am an empty shell, with no more love to give.


If you liked my writing, please click on the small heart underneath, near my name. Or send me a tip and let me know you enjoyed it.


Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.

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Originally posted on Medium


About the Creator

Colleen Millsteed

My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.

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