intentions

i never intended for this to happen
i never intended to take things this far
i never intended to love her
but here we are
in our living room
divided by more than just the couch
strangers in the dark
struggling against a truth
that will not let us go
and so we're fighting
you don't love me
you abused me
i don't love you
i only used you
but we cannot say the words so
we fight over trivial matters
small trifles that mean nothing
but that carry enough force to end
our relationship
we only needed an excuse
to start blaming eachother
so we didn't have to blame ourselves
and we only needed to raise our voices
in order to drown out the guilt
that whispers in our heads
and we only needed to win this final battle
where victory is a lie
and the victor is the one
who can withstand the most pain
but we cannot see this
in the dark
in the shadowed corners from which
we lash out
in hopes of bleeding the other one dry
she intends to win
she intends to wound me with her words
deep gashes that will never heal
she screams the loudest
and i let her
rage against me
her anger and spite so thick i can touch it
i say nothing
as her voice grows hoarse
and tears glisten in the room's only light
and she chokes on the words
that were meant to hurt me
her intentions fall to the floor
with a crashing that echoes
as it fills the room
i close my eyes
to let the ringing
fill my ears
along with her strangled sobs
she's still trying to scream
its all your fault its all your fault its all your fault
but her words mean nothing
they are hollow
like the hole she feels inside
huddled on the couch
holding herself together
i walk to her
on a carpet of
broken promises and shattered dreams
endless nights spent by her side
flash through my mind
as i gather her in my arms
and let her cry
she never intended to let me in
she never intended to love me
she never intended to lose
but here we are
in our living room
neither of us letting go
neither of us wanting to


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No matter what we have come through, or how many perils we have safely passed, or how imperfect and jagged our life has been, we cannot in our heart of hearts imagine how it could have been different. As we look back on it, it slips in behind us in orderly disarray, and, with all its mistakes, acquires a sort of eternal fitness, and even, at times, a poetic glamour.

-Randolph Silliman Bourne