Swallow

When you say I’m beautiful, what do you really mean? What do you want to imply when you say that I look pretty? When you hadn’t noticed me before but I suddenly caught your eye, what do these words mean? You, the man who has so many falling at his feet. Why do you notice me now? What makes you say such things that you know I will like to hear?  When you tell me these things I feel like a swallow. I am flying in the air. I am light, free, and yet I am tied to the earth. Forced to come back down when you leave. That is how I felt with you. That is how I was. 
What do you mean when you tell me I am beautiful? Is it just another way of your getting me to fall to your feet like the thousand others you have enraptured. I see how they are, captivated by your words. Your laugh ensnares them. You know exactly what to say to make the yours, and each day you add to your collection. And me? Am I in it? Am I your prized possession? You had me. You caught me. And then let go. So I fell from my place in the skies. You plucked away the wings you once gave me and let me plummet to the ground. Your prized possession? I guess not. In the end, was I more than just another one of those that you used and threw away? I guess I didn’t make a dent. I was just another game to you and I lost while you walked away with everything that I did. And it’s been so long, yet I still know you. I remember you. 

And though it scares me to admit this, I miss you…

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