I’m not in love
With you,
But with the possibility
Of us.

Your eyes are alight, my dear,
But not bright enough to set a fire in my heart.
Still, in them I see
A reflection of what could have,
Of what might have been;
Maybe the heat in your eyes could have melted my flimsy reasons,
If I allowed you,
If you were willing to;
Maybe things could have been different,
If I wasn’t me,
And you weren’t you.

Your hands, they’re strong.
In the dim light of the space that housed unanswered feelings,
They look like they might have fit against mine.
But life is not poetry,
(And if it was, it would not be the kind of poetry packaged into pretty books that climb up the bestselling lists,
Because no one is interested in poetry that leaves a bad taste in your mouth,)
And just because two hands might have fit together,
Does not mean they would be together.

My heart was always the rational one.
It knew what can, and can’t be;
Regrets were something that could be dealt with, but the conclusions from bad decisions lingered and should, and always, be avoided.
It is my mind
That dwells.
It dwells on your hand,
Dwells on how easy it is to grab it, and walk with you to places I was always so afraid to go,
So afraid to explore,
When I was alone, and the aloneness constricted my lungs.
It dwells on the warmth of your skin as we traverse forests, and float by mountains, and dive by oceans,
Shaking off the blankets of fear and loneliness until they all but feel like hazy memories of the past.

But my heart knows what can, and can’t be.

When you’ve thrown away love, you’ve thrown away any hope of being happy.
That’s what I’ve always believed.
It’s always hard to reject a hard-ingrained fantasy:
Be it a god, or magic, or the probability of finding yourself in a single person out of seven billion people in the world.
But reality hits some people sooner than others,
And you will be left thinking,
“Will I be okay like this?”
You will.
You’ve always been, and you will.
As long as you don’t forget how to feel at all.

Love?
Is not something I believe in.
Not something my heart, too busy pumping blood, is capable of.

So honey,
I will never be able to fall in love with you,
But I will always be in love with the possibility
Of being in love,
With the possibility
Of us.

–Β “In Love With the Possibility”

LL.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s