I Only Loved

I only loved.

Not because I was good at it.

I failed at everything else.

Friends, enemies, strangers, faces I knew,

men, women—it didn’t matter.

I loved them all.

Hard. Broken. Reckless.

The world tried to teach me

its rules, its tricks, its ways to win.

I listened. Nodded.

Failed every time.

Especially when it came to the heart.

I never learned anything else.

Except this: how to stand

next to someone

and be honest.

Distance? Forget it.

Honesty stuck to me like tar,

and I couldn’t shake it.

Cunning, deceit—never in me.

I chose love.

I said it,

even as it ate me alive.

No complaints.

What I had was enough to live.

Humanity stayed in me.

Friendship stayed.

Even with their coldness,

I kept showing up.

I keep showing up.

For love.

I drowned in their love.

They just watched.

When I left,

they stared.

I only loved.

Everything else? I failed.

Some said I wasted my life.

I call it living.

Sometimes joy, sometimes pain,

always, unflinchingly, alive.