i'm endlessly falling in love
with ideas and concepts,
so wonderfully impossible,
so delicately crafted
inside my mind.
i fall in love with strangers
who walk by,
with lonely phantoms
in the subway,
with shadows
in the streetlights,
with nonexistent stories,
with lives that aren't mine;
with every single thing
that i can't have,
because if i can't have it,
it won't hurt me,
and that's what really matters
down the line.
i'm endlessly falling in love
with dreams and delusions,
so perfectly impossible,
a collection
of parallel universes
inside my head;
and as long as it's not real
it should keep me safe
from falling apart,
as long as it's not real
it can't break my heart.