Loving you used to be tangible, but we missed the metamorphosis from there to here, where it is too hard to bridge the gap across my center console. You are a stranger now, though I used to know your every part, and shadows of our former selves play in corners of my mind, moving much too fast for me to nail them to the wall. Loving you used to be tangible, but there’s not much love left here at all.
Let’s not fool ourselves: we have never known simplicity. The appeal was in the twists, in the way we tangled ourselves together. I wanted you to smother me and then breathe me back to life.
Let’s not fool ourselves: we have never known simplicity. The disillusion comes in waves now, and our tangles have unraveled into parallel lines that never cross. We are nothing more than stacked clichés toppling a balance we never had.
I long for a time when things were simpler than now, but I suppose everything is relative. We have always been a dozen broken promises, wrapped for safekeeping before the gasoline meets flame. Up we go, offered to the gods of love and wine and hindsight, and when I look back now, I see a dozen different ways this could have ended, though it ended just the same.
Every day I fight the urge to wish I’d never met you. What good would that do, I wonder, as I toss our memories like stones over my shoulder. I leave a trail behind me in the wake of our destruction, and then I light it all on fire. Burn, baby, burn… when there is nothing left, it will still be too much.