What I wanted

He told me he would give me everything he had, in that way that would have made me believe him if he said he would pull the sun from the sky to make me a ring. He didn't, not in the way that really mattered. I asked for money and he gave me his money, enough to fulfill every wish I never made. I yearned for his words and he poured them out for me, but they were sand to my thirst. I pulled from him every one of his secrets, picked his past clean and spread out every piece, like a specimen under glass. He gave them up with a tight smile, always so eager to please. I wanted his eyes, I wanted his smile, I wanted his mind, and all he gave me was fading memories and echoes of loves I'd had before.

I still forgave him. I forgave how he betrayed me, forgave his hoarding of the little I asked for and how he tried to distract me with a thousand gifts and moments that couldn't hope to satisfy me.

I even forgave the look in his eyes when I finally took what I wanted.