Ben Bonkoske

I tried to love her when I was with her and I loved her after. I wanted to love her. I didn’t know how to love. Whatever may have happened, I was wrong. I was the one who was wrong. I tell myself she deserves an apology I can’t give her which is not true. I tell myself that I needed her, which is true. I associate her with my favorite painter, brokenhearted folk music, and simple language. I feel bad that I took out good memories from my playlist and blog. I’m happy to have cried for her. My laugh sounds like her’s sometimes. I learned to get up early from her father; Sometimes people are too nice. I don’t disrespect her.