Ideas
that I have yet to form
are already at the tip of my tongue.

So, so close
am I to finding out what my next imaginary tale will be.

There it is,
I see it.

I'm reaching out,
the tips of my shaky fingers graze the warm glass.

I stretch,
and stretch,
and stretch.

I fall,
it falls and shatters, too.

So, so close
was I to finally knowing what my next dream would be.

Can space last forever --
  so it may seem,
  the emptiness in my heart;
  bares witness to its existence.
Mortal beings are only mortal
  Yet pain last forever.
  And only time will tell;
  what the heart cant bear
  to hear nor the soul to listen.
  Once the wound heals
  the scars appear and glisten
  with memories of the past.

you tell me i don't love you
you tell me i only love the idea of you
my mind doesn't flinch to the sound of that
i may love the idea of you
but i love you more than i have ever loved myself

You are a time I will never forget.
           once such a beautiful thing;
                             a lovely union
                             broken we became
                             formed different paths
                             drifted in different directions
                             No love is destined to last
                             No love is perfection

Buried in the aftermath of our disaster
My world trembles.
yet my heart still beats; for you

I never knew what,
feeling pain would feel like,
Until, I broke my heart.

I found that we were similar about one particular thing: blaming ourselves for whatever happened between us. We had enough questions to keep our minds awake through these lonesome nights, enough guilt to keep ourselves silenced as if we've lost the right to our own voices, and enough pride to render our apologies useless like bullets meant to bring about change buried beneath the ground for safety. As if our apologies could harm anything other than our own ego that we mistakenly treasured instead of each other.

Or is it just me?

Am I tugging on a rope tied to a tree believing that the both of us create this tension but in truth is it just me? Did you simply let go? Do these words even reach you? Did my tears ever touch you? Does any of this even matter to you? You respond with silence from which I can draw indifference. You smile and I see right through it. I can't believe it. Never have I hated that smile until you faked it..just to pretend you're okay with this.

Or is it just me again?

Is that a legitimate smile? Are you genuinely happy now? Have you really gotten over everything? You say that you're okay with a smile like it's real. Maybe I just can't accept that that's how you feel. Because if I did, I'd have to face that pain. I'd have to close my eyes to hold the tears back, fake a smile, lie you one last time and say: I'm okay too.

I guess it IS just me.

Of all the months I've spent thinking about you, dreaming about the joyful moments we've spent and mourning our love's death. Of all the the futile attempts of  reaching you being met with disappointments. I've come to a conclusion; I am no longer in love with you, I am simply hanging on to severely beautified memories that my mind has created in order to compensate for the chronic dullness of my heart and to save myself from the creeping loneliness that grows larger each day. To put it simply, I am in love with an idea.

It IS just me.