avatarHenry Jo

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Abstract

nothing that can be done now.</p><p id="87b6">I just feel like I don’t know who you are anymore-perhaps I never knew the true you in the first place.</p><p id="9d24">I miss the mysterious you, the curious you who was begging to learn even one more detail about me. I miss what we had when we first started, but it’s too late to turn back now.</p><p id="bc0a">We’ve crawled out of the cave of unfamiliarity, and a massive rock slide of comfort has trapped the entrance back in, preventing us from starting over.</p><p id="ff42">I hate it.</p><p id="5614">I hate where we are right now, and it’s my fault.</p><p id="bfb8">I just thought this was going to be different. Alas, that’s exactly what was said last time.</p><p id="efa8">I just keep making the same mistake, but I would make that mistake again in a heartbeat turn back the clock. I just wish I hadn’t rushed it with us, and it’s in no way your fault it didn’t work out bet

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ween us, but I can’t help picturing your face when my heart cracks more each day.</p><p id="9876">I was lured into your trap, even when there was no trap to fall into.</p><p id="3883">Your smile, your confidence, your charm-they’ll be better off with someone else, is what I’ve learned.</p><p id="cae7">When we first started, we built a bridge together connecting us that seemed unbreakable. The fires that spread us apart burned all of the progress we made, and there’s no more materials left to rebuild that once-precious connection.</p><p id="d398">I miss what we had.</p><p id="20a6">I really do.</p><p id="7341">I want to get off this merry-go-round, because my heart’s on its last legs.</p><p id="a5c0">You’re too busy looking for another rider to see the damage that’s been done, and it inflicts pain deeper than a sharp stab when I think about.</p><p id="3d84">We won’t ever be the same again, will we?</p></article></body>

My Love Is Timeless

A poem about endlessness

Source of Image: iStock Photos, created by itsskin, https://www.istockphoto.com/photo/couple-riding-merry-go-round-in-la-gm480585593-36168672

I want to get off.

I want to explore different rides, because we’ve already exhausted this one.

My heart spins around you in an endless circle on this merry-go-round you’ve taken us on, but it’s time to end the ride and find a new source of happiness.

My love is timeless for you, but I just can’t keep waiting for a spark that will never happen. I’m to blame for that, but there’s nothing that can be done now.

I just feel like I don’t know who you are anymore-perhaps I never knew the true you in the first place.

I miss the mysterious you, the curious you who was begging to learn even one more detail about me. I miss what we had when we first started, but it’s too late to turn back now.

We’ve crawled out of the cave of unfamiliarity, and a massive rock slide of comfort has trapped the entrance back in, preventing us from starting over.

I hate it.

I hate where we are right now, and it’s my fault.

I just thought this was going to be different. Alas, that’s exactly what was said last time.

I just keep making the same mistake, but I would make that mistake again in a heartbeat turn back the clock. I just wish I hadn’t rushed it with us, and it’s in no way your fault it didn’t work out between us, but I can’t help picturing your face when my heart cracks more each day.

I was lured into your trap, even when there was no trap to fall into.

Your smile, your confidence, your charm-they’ll be better off with someone else, is what I’ve learned.

When we first started, we built a bridge together connecting us that seemed unbreakable. The fires that spread us apart burned all of the progress we made, and there’s no more materials left to rebuild that once-precious connection.

I miss what we had.

I really do.

I want to get off this merry-go-round, because my heart’s on its last legs.

You’re too busy looking for another rider to see the damage that’s been done, and it inflicts pain deeper than a sharp stab when I think about.

We won’t ever be the same again, will we?

Love
Relationships
Poem
Poetry
The Orange Gildersleeve
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