Where is the romance?
How to give myself a chance
To experience real love?
Is it really just about "feeling enough"?

Is it all about dopamine?
Adrenaline? Serotonin?
Aren't we overanalyzing
And with that - aren't we paralyzing
Ourselves?

I feel like love lost all sense of romance.
Like nobody ever is Mr. Right
Like I deliberately choose
If I might...

Win or lose -
Doesn't really matter,
I could change partners
According to weather.

Isn't it strange?
Or is it just me?
Wondering about
What love is meant to be?

I'm kind of sick,
Feeling aloof,
Confused, sad, alone,
As though I was sitting on some
Iron throne.

As though all those tales
Are simple creations,
All magic seems lost,
The special vibrations...

The butterflies?
Just cause I am empty inside,
Feeling as though,
I simply needed "a hormonal ride".

I hope there's more
Than addiction to it,
I hope all these things truly exist:
Romance and roses,
Love at first sight,
Being more than a casual delight,
A tender and beautiful touch of a hand
And a soft kiss as though we just met.

I want to believe in marriage even.
I want to be able to choose someone, too.
I long for such special and deep connection,
I want it to stay meaningful until the end.

So do people in marriages simply pretend?
Or are they just used to each other?
Or even a substitute for a father or mother?
It's sad!

My mind is racing
And I realize,
I need to let go
Of this need to know.

The desperate search
Won't take me much farther,
I realize it's a perfect distraction.

There are certain fields in my life
Which wait for my reaction.

But I am rather in my mind,
Wanting to hide
From
Those messages... ... ... ... ... ...
Those steps for my future profession...
And other big decisions,
Which need me to take action.

Salt filled orbs, refusing to fall.
Locked behind a dam, they silently call.
For release, for freedom, for sweet escape.
But they are held captive, in an unbreakable shape.

A hurting heart, a broken Soul
Feelings too deep, to ever be told.
Eyes that deceive, a smile that hides.
The pain that is within, forever resides.

The tears that don't fall, leave an endless ache.
A burning sensation, that no one can shake.
They swim in our eyes, but refuse to spill.
As we hold them back, against our will.

Here I stand, naked before you, brave and unyielding,
All the tender parts of me exposed.
Like a tree, your roots dig deep, anchoring me to you.
I lay myself at your mercy—body, mind, and spirit.
Wrapped in your arms, I quietly implore,
Please, handle me with care

I felt it
When I spoke
To the judge,
For my son,
Years of shell work
Encasing fear and sanity, cracked with each glance, falling away. Everyone listening.
I was left lost
Like a snail losing it's shell
Mushy and vulnerable
A Pulpy mess.

Was it enough
That I said
Or too much.
So much was left out
The Russian Roulette admission
The thoughts of jumping 15 floors from his hotel
So many letters making up words and paragraphs upon paragraphs
of 15 years.
Throwing out a gun
Into the city trash.

How could I be anything more than a mother
Who let the saving flatten her out of existence. Incoherence and pulp.
Will it be discarded
All that effort
To keep him alive
At my expense.
Is that what mothers do?
I'll never get to return. Life doesn't
Let you.

[...] like a moth that would do anything to reach its light, here you try to break the distance between you and me. Like a moth blinded by the beauty of the light, unaware of the harm the light could do to it, here you fight for our love.