I loved him like he was my sun.
Shining for him
I split myself open.
Fragments
lodged dagger-sharp
in my heart,
a cage
I bled out in.
hoping he’d pick up a shard
for an hour,
a day,
a minute,
a hi
just a taste of his love
was enough.
until all the beauty in the world
spun down,
held in his hand,
feeding me
small increments
of good.
it wasn’t good for me.
but I liked it anyway.
Even when the cost rose,
carrots dangled
small victories
just out of reach.
A starving rabbit
hops.
This is heartbreakingly beautiful. The metaphor of loving someone “like he was my sun” immediately sets up that imbalance of orbit — how everything revolved around him, how your light depended on his. And the image of splitting yourself into fragments, waiting for him to pick up even one shard… that’s such a raw, honest way to describe craving the smallest scraps of affection.
The “small increments of good” line really hit. It captures that cycle so perfectly — how we can survive on crumbs and convince ourselves it’s a feast. And ending with the starving rabbit hopping after carrots just out of reach? That’s powerful. It shows awareness. It shows growth. There’s clarity in that metaphor, even if there’s still ache.
What I love most is that beneath the pain, there’s strength. You’re not romanticizing the harm — you’re naming it. That honesty is brave. This reads like someone who has looked directly at what hurt them and found language sharp enough to hold it. Keep writing like this. It cuts in all the right ways.
Thank you. This made my morning. I really appreciate the care with which you read it.