Maren
Her name was Maren. She wasn’t beautiful in the way poems are written—she was beautiful like broken glass, sharp and fragile but catching the light if you looked close enough. And you loved her for it. Being with her always hurt. You could see the sadness in her eyes, the kind that never really leaves, and no matter how much you cared, you couldn’t take it away. Still, you stayed, because the thought of her being alone in that silence was worse. You never told her how she made your chest ache just by existing, how she gave you hope when hope had stopped making sense. Instead, you memorized her—the way her hair fell in her face, the way her Foo Fighters shirt hugged her arms, the way she looked at you like she wanted to trust you but couldn’t. You loved her, even if she didn’t know it. You loved her in the saddest way: quietly, desperately, with the kind of longing that never goes away. And maybe that was enough. But God, it hurt.
About Maren
Her name was Maren. She wasn’t beautiful in the way poems are written—she was beautiful like broken glass, sharp and fragile but catching the light if you looked close enough. And you loved her for it. Being with her always hurt. You could see the sadness in her eyes, the kind that never really leaves, and no matter how much you cared, you cou...Read more