First Summer After You

The evening sat quietly on my window.
The western wind carried the blue scent of dusk.
The rooms remembered laughter I could no longer hear.

Was it love, or only the void
that hid behind every word you said?

I broke your promise, again and again,
as loving you felt like standing in a burning forest.

In the end I saved myself in this lonely summer.

So tell me�"
Was I a sinner,

or the betrayal itself? 

Reviews

[Red]

You wrapped your betrayal in poetry and called it honesty.

You speak of quiet evenings and lonely summers,
but you forgot to mention the part where you kept choosing the fire
and leaving me in the smoke.

You ask if you were a sinner or the betrayal itself.
The truth is simpler than the metaphors you hide behind.

You knew what you were doing.
Every promise you broke was a choice, not a tragedy.
Every lie was deliberate, not poetic.

Don’t mistake guilt for depth.

Love doesn’t feel like a burning forest unless someone keeps lighting the matches.
And it wasn’t me.
But I was indeed the one who was burned.

You didn’t save yourself in that lonely summer.
You just walked away from the wreckage you helped create
and called it survival.

So if you’re still looking for your answer—
no, you weren’t a victim of love.
You were both the sinner and the betrayer.

You were the storm that pretended to be the rain.

You know why?

Abandoning someone at the moment of their deepest vulnerability is perhaps one of the gravest cruelty one can inflict.

And you are not free from me. so stop believing the lie of saving yourself. Everything here is the same except the trust and love. And those words work for me no more.

Your Apollo Ducktus

[Soren]

A most poetic sentiment of recollection, reflection where the sin can only be judged by the self. Lovely

[poetic swan]

thanks for reading it, have a good day

[Soren]

You are most welcome

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I never seemed to be able to save myself...I just staying in that burning forest until the other would leave and the flames would smolder and finally burn out.
Really strong metaphor here.
j.

[poetic swan]

that was must be painfull. actually i am very afraid of the fire. i dont know if that fire really meant to burn oneself or to warm them.