A few weeks later we first spoke;
I’d seen her a dozen times, but held my tongue.
A timid smile graced her lips; was this fate’s cruel joke,
Was she interested, or would I be stung?
I never really loved her

We arranged to meet, we began to share
Of life’s stories, our hopes and dreams.
Was something developing, was it there?
Or would I be ruined once again by unrequited schemes…
I never really loved her

Months and years passed by; we arranged to marry.
We made a home we joined our lives,
But I kept empty boxes in the garage to soothe my wary
Fears that somehow this wouldn’t survive.
I never really loved her

Years went by, the cardboard gathered dust,
We shared tears and joy, two sons and a daughter.
Yet something in me couldn’t annul mistrust,
Like the fear of a new swimmer in deep ocean water.
I never really loved her

I was afraid that losing her would bring pain,
Which I could avoid by keeping myself numb;
In case the feelings that she felt began to wane,
It would protect me from concern of what might come.
I never really loved her

One by one, the children left the home;
Certainly this change would usher inquietude.
As we found ourselves once again alone,
Would she flee to explore some distant latitude?
I never really loved her

Time passed until she was captured by cancer’s grip
Illusory at first, a sentence I could not believe,
But soon it spread and I watched her condition slip.
My fear of losing her was granted no reprieve.
I never really loved her

Not much later she was infirmed
Often, I’d go to the hospital to check in
Finally the day when death’s appointment was confirmed
Doctors worked her chest, but with her hand she did beckon
I never really loved her

I stood by her side and took her hand in mine.
She turned her head toward mine, a smile as I met her eyes
She gave a gentle squeeze, then in death reclined.
It was at that moment I realized,
I never really loved her.

Tears streamed down my face, at the opportunities untapped
I unearthed the cardboard boxes and packed her earthly treasures
Until I stumbled upon a journal she’d kept
I flipped through its pages and read of her devotion to me unmeasured.
I never really loved her.

Her last entry, a week before her death she described
Her anticipation of my hospital visits, to hear my footsteps in the hall
In my best efforts to guard my heart from pain I had proscribed
Any chance at true adoration; for unless one is willing to risk it all
We can never really love.