Real love is too realistic to bear a name: true, enduring, forever.
Romance is not romantic, for love letters are dull to read, and flowers wilt, and butterflies cease to flutter.
Love, you'll never be further away than when you are lying next to me.
When I can hear your heartbeat, and know there is no guarantee that another night will pass in your arms.
I lie to myself to keep the pieces aligned.
And miles from where you are, I lie in bed, sleepless, unsettled.
Solitude: my closest friend, my last resort, my life support.
When you, my legs-my love, are not there to support me.
For foundations settle, walls crack, paint chips.
And fires will consume what the winds leave standing.
I wish I could have stood with you.
Planted deeper our roots.
Made a one from a two.
But fairytales don't always come from “dreams come true.”