something's burned
between
you and me. I didn't
smell the smoke,
feel the flames
stir the pensive
air.
she's just an ideal of who i want you to be.
who you are is tearing me apart.
who she is is keeping me holding on.
i know you won't fall in love with me, surely, but you fall in love with *him*, not to mention *him*, and I'm lost among your laughter. You just scroll: new faces, new angles, new everything. Novelty. Is that what's important to you? That's not, I think, what she cares about. She cares about relation; she is my ecology. She exists between things; you exist as things.
i'm being too harsh, i know, and i condemn myself for it. you're living your life, never mind if it's not *her* life. that's not your fault. i'm glad you're happy. i tell myself that every day and maybe one day it'll be true.
i'll never truly have her, no matter what you say. i know this because she's already been found. Found, embodied, then lost.