she's lost me.

well not necessarily,

I've lost her,
as usual.
it always tends to happen like this...
intense passion,
for a brief period,
slowly dying out.
like a tree that soaks the nutrient from its surroundings.
growing too fast for its own good,
we withered away without even noticing we never really loved each other.
you were nothing more than a momentary relief,
tricking myself into thinking I could actually fall in love again.
to think that I'm writing this type of poem about you really allows me to understand that I have lost everything with meaning.
first it was her,
she,
that other girl,
and now you.
it's become so typical now.
I always tell myself I'm going to stop.
enough of putting myself in this position,
over and over,
resetting the timer of when I'll be hurt again.
for some reason I was hoping you'd be the one to save me.
but it seems you need some saving of your own.