What's Left To Give

What if my heart is already spoken for?
Not held, not kept, just… refused?
Like a letter returned to sender,
edges softened from the journey,
but still unopened.

I offered it to you
with both hands, steady, certain,
like something sacred,
and you looked at it
like it was too heavy to carry.

So what am I supposed to give her now?
The echo of something whole?
A half-beat rhythm
that still stutters at your name?

What if “all of me” doesn’t exist anymore?
What if I spent it
trying to become enough
for someone who only measured
what I lacked?

You said I wasn’t enough,
and the cruelest part is
somewhere along the way
I started to believe you.

So now I stand here
with pieces that still remember you,
wondering if love can be rebuilt
from what was once rejected.

What if I try again
and all she ever gets
is what you left behind?