I thought you were beautiful,
when you kissed the moon
with your smile.
I thought you were happy,
when you told me
you loved me.
I thought that you were wise,
when you glanced upon
a reflection of yourself
in the water,
and threw a rock
to make a splash,
and let the ripples fade
you
out.
I thought you were real,
without really knowing
that when you were alone,
you counted raindrops that fell,
and wished they were stars,
or moons,
or meteors.
Anything to wash away the slate.
Anything to make you feel
beautiful,
happy,
wise.
Anything,
but me.