Worse than first love?

Yes, unrequited love

He was all the hollow words in the dictionary and I was all the hidden despair.

He was wounds and I was alcohol without disinfection

He was the start of all winter and I was the fifth season

He made me understand the Beatles backwards

And every end began with his pain.

We weren't the bet on him but we were the bet on me.

And we were not the first united

But my heart didn't care.

Because he was Sunday laughter that raised my pen and I was a competition that he liked to forget.

We were not church

We were not a soccer field

We were maybe kindergarten

And there is much worse than first love

But nothing worse than almost love.

Ta.