No more looking at the sky
and seeing shapes in the clouds,
or imagining peaceful meadows
and relishing its perpetual silence.
Enough of reading penned scrawls
on the pristine back of scratch paper,
encoding from them words
that try to convey messages unheard.
I wished on bright shooting stars
often when I was little, naively hopeful;
I thought Santa Claus existed for
every Christmas, I had presents.
I believed in hugs and roses,
in romantic night skies and walks,
hands held together, foreheads touched,
I should have realized it sooner.
Your smile is just a smile lest
I put meaning in it, and your eyes
shine because I believe them to,
your words are sincere because
that is your primordial nature,
and not because of some connection
I thought we actually had.
Ridiculous has this pattern become,
of falling for your random gestures,
but I’m going to quit you (I have to)
and you’re not going to matter anymore
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