what is moving on, really? for I am not in love with her --
not anymore. not really.
still I love the idea of loving her:
memories of breakfast and imaginary children.
but this is not what love is. this is what love was, once.
now it's nothing more than me, loving
what could have been but wasn't.

but when she's here and when she's near me
all I want is this,
to tell her about all the ways my world revolved around her, once.

what is it they say about love lost?


the truth is, to have loved at all
will haunt us for a lifetime.