Love Makes Allowances Poem by Mark Heathcote

I tell myself not to stop,
not to look back, not to forgive
I tell myself I am better than all this.
I am worth much, much more.
And then my heart starts sobbing
like a child behind a locked door.
And I'm-hopeless-to-explore, why
she-dumped-me, sure I made mistakes;
the first was letting her in. But there
were nights I'd revisit if only I could,
nights in the bathtub before one
or the other pulled the bath plug.
Sure, she made mistakes too,
but I'm damned if I remember;
now we've fixed a dinner date.