I thought (I knew) (I know)

I fell in love once.
I was fourteen, I thought it was love.
It was a shallow pool in which the shadows looked endless.
I was breathless, already envisioning, anticipating even, the shock of the dive.
(And God, I wanted to dive.)
But it was just the pavement, slightly dipped where the ground gave way
And rain water permeated the asphalt’s craters.
(I hit headfirst)
I was fourteen, I thought it was love.
 
I was fifteen and I fell out of love.
It was when I hit the pool of water and suddenly, endless wasn’t such a liberating feeling anymore.
It was then I was anticipating not the dive (the fall),
But the shock of the pavement on my scalp.
The burn that pulled away my skin and hair but also what I thought I knew.
It was then that the rain water not only permeated the asphalt
But chemical water short circuiting my entire being when I thought of love
(when I thought of you)
Because you were supposed to be endless and I was met with a dent in the
Endless (I began to believe it was more like “suffocating”)
Black
Pavement.
Because you were supposed to be breathtaking
(and at first, you were, you really were)
But you took my breath in ways that I felt that I would never recover from.
I was fifteen. I knew it wasn’t love.
 
I'm sixteen and I've fallen out of love.
I'm sixteen and I am bitter because I am afraid.
I'm scared in the most immature ways possible.
(But I can't hate you for it)
Because the fall out-
it hurt a lot more than the shock of falling in.