crowded spaces,
familiar faces,
and sometimes
when my mind runs races
when this heart is tired of chases,
I cannot help
but wonder
if this too, is how love ends:
two dimensional,
as if
as if
as if
fairytales are just that;
tales, fabricated, lies.
How profound is it
to see your lover
intertwined with someone
that looks like you.
there's nothing special
between wanting to be alone,
alone with you:
if that doesn't make sense,
then i take back
all the love stories and
fragments of fickle phrases
stating the difference
between genuine, and selfish.
i am tired of dousing flames.
let me burn.
