Love Me Softly, Then Tear Me Apart

Love me softly,

like the whisper of dawn,

when the world still sleeps

and the sun has not yet learned to burn.

Touch me gently,

as if your hands remember every heartbreak

they have ever held before me.

Kiss me slowly,

like you’re afraid I’ll disappear

if you rush the moment,

like time bends for us

and only for us.

Tell me I’m safe here,

that your love is calm,

that your arms are home —

even if you know

you’ll one day let them go.

Pull me close,

but keep one secret tucked behind your heart.

Let me believe in forever

while you count the cracks

that already begin to show.

Let me fall,

completely, foolishly,

the way only someone who has never been warned does.

Let me think love is a soft place to land.

And then —

tear me apart.

Not all at once,

but slowly,

with the kind of silence that bruises louder than shouting.

Let the messages fade,

the warmth grow cold,

the eyes that once searched for me

now pass me by

like I was only a memory

you meant to forget.

Tear me apart

with your absence,

with the ghost of what we used to be.

Let me ache for the sound of your voice

until even your name feels heavy

on my tongue.

Let me search for pieces of you

in songs, in strangers,

in anything that hurts enough to feel real.

Love me softly,

so I never see it coming.

Make me believe I was the only one

you ever wanted to stay.

Let me build a future

on your promises,

even if they were made of glass.

Then shatter me —

so beautifully

that I almost thank you for it.

Make the ending poetic,

make the goodbye sound gentle,

so I can pretend it wasn’t my fault

when everything broke.

And when you leave,

don’t look back.

Because if you do,

I might mistake your glance

for mercy.

And mercy,

in love like ours,

is just another lie

dressed in softness.

I will carry your name

like a scar I choose not to heal.

I will write you into poems

and pretend it’s not pain

that guides my hand.

Your love will linger

in the quiet between my heartbeats,

a ghost I never asked for

but learned to live with.

Love me softly,

then tear me apart —

so I’ll remember both the warmth and the wound,

the way you made me bloom

just to watch me wilt.

So I’ll never again confuse

gentleness with forever,

or kindness with love.

And when it’s over,

I’ll thank the storm for coming.

Because it’s better to have burned

than to never have felt fire at all.

Better to have been broken

by something beautiful,

than to live untouched

and unscarred.

So go ahead —

love me softly.

Then tear me apart.

Because somewhere between

the breaking and the healing,

I will find myself again —

not softer,

but stronger.

Not empty,

but infinite.

And in that quiet ruin,

I’ll finally understand

that even love that ends

can still be art.

And when the ache fades — because all aches eventually do — I’ll stand beneath the same sky that once held our names in its stars. I’ll breathe in the silence you left behind and realize it no longer hurts, just hums. The pain becomes music, soft and haunting, like a lullaby for the parts of me that still remember you. I’ll learn that love doesn’t have to last to be real, that even the broken pieces glow when the light hits right. I’ll whisper your name to the wind — not to call you back, but to finally let you go.