I would have given you my soul. I love and it's entirety my heart and whole. Everything I could muster inside me, all that I could create, transcend, and unfold all yours unconditionally. All yours, every piece of me. Didn't you know? Maybe you did know. Maybe you saw me unfolding before you. Unraveling pieces, you couldn't recognize. You didn't know how to love these pieces. So you didn't. You didn't know how to harness power, how to take hold of a rain, to pick up envelope at sealant, stamp at your so instead you left it discarded, ripped and shredded, but didn't you know? Didn't you know? I would have loved you the most. Those seconds of jealousy, the fear behind your eyes, the questions in your head of whether we were right, you found comfort and assumption and resolution that we tried, but don't you know we tried not? Didn't you know? Maybe you saw that I was more willing, all the more eager to work and love and build, and maybe you felt that you couldn't love me. You didn't know how to confess. Had to take back those pretty little words you should have never said, maybe you knew that you wouldn't love me, but you don't know how lovable I am.