illusion
Love that comes from one side only
is not love. Is a mere illusion of a
moment of pleasure and desire.
It’s a tree without its roots. An ocean
without its water. The night without
the moon and stars. It is the
unapproachable truth of what is and
what is not.
It leaves a bitter taste of treacherous
words in my mouth, with no consolation
for my scorched heart that hides under
the bed with traces of blood all over the
ground.
I have already come to accept that I won’t
be the way I used to be, for not me or you
will do something about it. You remain
unresponsive as every shallow word that
you have ever said.
Holding on won’t make much difference,
loving you, won’t make you love me back.
Only the inescapable void of wanting you
even more that which is far greater than
I can bear.
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