It kills me
to keep guessing which one of us
realizes first, our folly
of being too proud of our love and its power.
While hundreds of such love cease to exist each moment.
Hundreds of hearts broken.
And those people who no longer love,
who no longer want to love
Did they, like us, believe
in the invincibility of their desires and devotion.
and misjudged the amount of sacrifices a person can make.
Will we become like them, dear?
How many years can we spend together
before reality of life breaking us apart?
It kills me not to know the nature
of this beast, of this love
that has taken refuge in my heart.
Does the end of love begin
with these small, small doubts that I am holding?
See for yourself- my heart,
how it bleeds.
And yet it tells me not to worry.
Tells me that I am coward.
That I am looking for excuses.
That people have loved without guarantees.
You can too.