The very first time I remember you, we're playing tag in the schoolyard,
and you're chasing me through the fields, and I love you.
The next time I remember you, I’ve fallen in the fields
I search for you through teary eyes, but only see that you don’t love me back.
I've stopped trying to find a universe where you help me up from my fall,
because the end result always stays the same. In every version, my heart still calls your name.
Our love is always tumultuous, and you always ask for forgiveness. You attribute it to my kindness, but I reserve my sentiments as wistfulness.
I flick through our multiverse of madness like a child’s storybook,
trying to find where it went wrong and if there is a universe where it could be repaired.
In alternate realities, I watch as you’ve declared your love for someone else. Each time I rewind is like a dagger through my chest.
Ah, but I don’t blame you; I’ll never burn as brilliantly as you. I’d chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes until I find the one where you’ll return to me.