Where did it begin?

That moment when love became
as overused as recycled paper.
Sure...wonderful!
Saving trees and hearts a like.
It tasted,
initially like peace on your tongue
but the morning after like regret.

Ironic,
given the alcohol
that numbs the pain
is one in the same.

Yet
we get up
and begin anew.

Almost as if nothing ever occurred,
however like any form of matter--
we are changed.

You can't burn to ashes
and rise the same,
pieces are lost,
pieces are gained.

Only thing that remains
is your name.
Let it stand for more
than this disaster
I sometimes claim to abhor.

Love is lovely,
but it, like war
takes casualties
with no remorse.