I think of you sometimes,
of how incredible you seemed to me,
of all the times you lied,
and how you taught me insecurity.
One moment we were perfect,
the next you're a ghost I'm hunting.
Our relationship was Schrödinger's
cat:
both alive and dead at the same time.
You would seek me out,
make plans so we could meet,
only to disappear the night of,
with me wondering if you even liked me.
You were a tornado that tore through my
life,
changing everything in one intense
moment,
only to dissipate in thin air,
with every strong gust leaving me
hopeful.
And disappointed.
But I'm to blame too, aren't I?
For building hope on something broken:
fire could never support four walls and
a roof,
and we were just two little flames.
How frightening was I?
Wielding love in my mouth and eyes:
the romantic promises forever
when the reasonable considers the
present.
Had I opened up Schrödinger's box,
I would find the cat dead inside
with my fingers wrapped around its
neck.
No wonder you were afraid.
-Zero
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