Slightly and then all at once,
every time I give this love a chance
I wake up in relief but sorrowed
by the moment we have borrowed.

From movies, from stories and books
pretending to be infatuated by looks,
only to be left with doubt and nothing.
All I have is nothing and it is too much.

To gently say goodby or wave and smile,
rekindling, every once in a while,
whatever there was to be felt,
knowing now it was not here to stay.

New, you, known or somewhere in
between. If love has grown or suddenly is seen.