Her trauma

Her soul was rich,

I wanted to dive into every corner of it, into the darkness, into the light,

I wanted to dive so deep, that all our separation would dissolve.

But she was carrying her trauma like a second skin,

an obscuring skin which made her blind for the beauty she carried inside,

protected so eagerly what was keeping her from being alive.

Her silence,

it was tied like a strong cord around my heart,

getting tighter, with every word that was not spoken.

The cord around my heart,

it took my breath away, it brought me to my knees.

I crept begging for salvation, begging to release me from her deadly ropes.

Her Trauma,

it had implanted the idea of ​​not being good enough for love.

And by destroying everything that resembled love,

she satisfied her trauma, her deeply rooted pain,

the only satisfaction she was ever able to feel.

Her game,

we played her game.

A game where one would win and one would loose,

as she kept her cards face down.

My love,

she was never aware that the game of love was played with open cards,

that there is no winner or loser,

that the game of love was merely made for its very play.

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