To choose between two lovers,
What a privilege, one might think.
But is it truly a privilege when every time you look into the second's eyes,
You see the first?
It certainly is not
When the first inquires about your sadness, but you cannot tell him
That you haven't stopped thinking of how it felt to hold the second.

It is not a privilege when you're face to face with the first,
Unable to move closer, like a paper thin sheet of the most breakable glass
Has you separated for good.
Or how when you speak of him to the second,
And you see the brightness fade from his eyes,
Like a sunset with no hues.

It is most definitely not a privilege when one cannot bear to hear the name of the other
Without stabs of jealousy methodically traversing his spine.

And it is not a privilege when no matter what you do, you cannot shake the feeling
That you are doing wrong, that you are a wretched person
For needing to choose
But being unable.