I knew.

I knew.
I knew when you had fallen for me;
when you had discovered

that I made your heart quicken.

I knew.
I knew that I was not supposed to be with you,
that whatever god I believed in then
was screaming "no" in my ear.

I knew.

I knew when I began to scare you;

when the idea that I captured you

made you unsettled.

I knew.

I knew that my shadows burdened you,

but that you would listen, still,

and hold me still.

I knew.

I knew that you had discovered

that I feasted off of lies. 

And you did not let me get away with it.

I knew.

I knew that night when I held your hand in your car

and stroked it with uncontrollable vigor,

that it would be the last time I would hold you.

I knew.

I knew when I went away for that week,

and the pain of your absence kept me up every night,

that I had already lost you.

I knew.

I knew when I fell to the floor of that shower,

crying with the realization that I loved you,

that I could not tell you.

I knew.

I knew I had to let you go.

I had to because I loved you,

and I kept you caged.

I know.

I know something now,

something I cannot explain, 

even to myself.