Five Hundred Days

For five hundred days,
I was yours.
Though you doubted,
I always knew the score.

This is not goodbye,
but instead a prayer
in memory of tender kisses,
upon your golden hair.

I knew he was next,
but I still held out hope.
Until on your father’s name,
I could not help but choke.

This is not goodbye,
for I said that long ago.
You could not hear me,
until I was gone.

You played me for a fool,
so sure from your place above.
But never as much of one you thought of me,
just a man in love.

This is not goodbye,
though we’ll never speak again.
This is a prayer you are well,
one I’ll never end.

You were not the one,
and neither was I.
And that is a regret
I will carry til I die.

This is not goodbye,
I only wish you well.
But in those five hundred days,
I can no longer dwell.

You might think I changed.
but you never saw me true.
She sees me as truly I am,
with love in eyes so blue.