I always had a sense of entitlement
when it came to dreaming of a lover.
That there would be someone
who puts me first.
But I realized with time
sometimes you have to be that someone
who puts others first.
That was such a terrifying and distressing thought.
And suddenly all these heroes
became somewhat out-of-the-world, larger-than-life
someone I can never be.


To realize the pain
it must have taken
to scrap down their lives
for the sake of a person
whose love can’t be trusted or guaranteed.
How one must endure their own foolishness.
How one must look away from our own self.
Knowing all the while
that all this, built
by sacrifices,
can be broken in no time
with one word of hers,
that can end your suffering
and renew your struggle.
That there is no way out.
To cling
or to leave.
And to suffer each minute
no matter what you choose.


It seemed so tiring
It seemed so cruel
to ask someone for that.