Don Juan

I still remember how my heart rate

escalated as we stood there.

I had always been in “love” with you,

and it was “love”, I thought

to be deprived of oxygen and air—

that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling…

that irreparable believing that

everything was fate (and that you had been)

summoned, somehow, by my prayers—

that naïveté,

that airy dream that I was at the heart of your

suave, seductive stare…

blissfully oblivious, unaware, and head strong—

captured by a vicious snare, disguised as a

sick love song…

never once believing you

were just a narcissistic Romeo, all along—

a philanderer, a fuckboy, a

mystic Casanova and

{{Don Juan…}}

and that’s why, as I stood there,

half-cradled only by the icy, lonely,

chauvinistic air,

I finally found the nerve, sparked by the scarlet dawn and your

elusive debonair, to say,

“I love you,”

(to which you grinned,

just as the sky transformed from garnet-red, to blue,) and

muttered back the WRONG three words:

“Why, thank you.”

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-Gina C. 🧚‍♀️✨

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Author's Note: This poem is part of my "Ghosts of Relationships Past" series, where I reminisce about old love experiences of mine, gone bad. :) ❤️ Follow for more drama!

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This is Poem #6 of my personal "Poem-a-Day" challenge. ☺️ Can I keep it up? We shall see. 🫣 (I'm behind again but...I can probably get two more up today!)