Now, Still, I Love You

It seems to me, that my poems usually tend to be rather short. So when I happen to write something longer, it always sort of surprises me. Yesterday, I suddenly had a line pop up in my head, and thought about writing a little poem around it. The thing is, it was really difficult to stop writing, once I'd started, and the poem just grew and grew, which I obviously wasn't expecting.
Anyhow, it wouldn't make much sense as a story, if it was any shorter. Actually, it might not hurt to add to it, but now that it's finished, I would rather not touch it again. I already altered it in three different occasions, which is more than basically ever.


The poem is called, as the title of the post says, Now, Still, I Love You, and the story behind it is something like this:
Two unnamed people, of unknown ages and unknown genders, have been involved with each other, even though the general opinion would be against them. They have been hiding their relationship, but now, somehow, it has been exposed, and everybody knows about them. (You can think about it as them being of a sexual minority, of different age groups, or in a situation that for some reason would prevent them from being together.)
One of the two, the one 'telling the story', has never been willing to live their life in any way out of the ordinary, so the other person is convinced that, now, they will have to separate, so as not to make life difficult to the narrator. The problem is, that, the narrator is so much in love by now, that they really don't care about all that, and would be willing to do anything for the other, but they just won't believe it, and walk away.

The whole poem is already in the site, and can be found here. Here is a little sneak peek, though:

Tears roll below your bright blue eyes.

A part within me slowly dies.

It scared me so, to see you cry,

a friend so dear, my love, my life,

and when your lips part, I know, I fear,

what is to come, my love, my dear.

 **

And before you leave, right at the door,

you turn to see me stare the floor.

You ask me, still, if I regret,

if I would still stay as upset,

of all I let go, all I gave.

No, love.

I would be your willing slave.