---

∴

i miss the exhilaration
of being in love
with someone
who loves me back,
just as much,
and in the same way.

 

i wonder
if it was ever exactly like that,
anyway,

 

or if i had just adopted
fiction
as my own proven past
and kept it
like flags and family crests –

dreams –

of entitled expectation,
hoisted on the horizon.

 

weren’t we young once?
and in love?

i cannot recall,

i cannot recall.

 

love owes us nothing,
yet we owe everything to it.

funny, that.

no?

∴

 

 

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