Sometimes
I think about what could’ve been
and realize what would’ve been
could’ve been great.
Or it could’ve been hate,
or discomfort,
or borrowed love to replace our hurt
from our past and five minute of happy ever at last.
A Cinderella lost her glass slipper story,
turns into I hate you and ignoring.
Falling deeper and further
into and out of good intention
and finding ourselves into a field of unmentioned
gestures of in love turned unlove
and feel good into feel worse and worse everytime we fight and **** to make up.
A made up illusion of grandeur.
A magic show of cigarette smoke and mirrors.