And Now Nothing Interesting Exists

Of wanting things to be the way they were and knowing they cannot be.

I still think about you too often.

Reliving the heartache of being forgotten.

Like repeatedly burying myself in my own coffin.

 

I search for your likeness on the streets around town.

Hunting for that shimmer from your soft HoneyBrowns.

And every time I’m left feeling more and more let down.

 

I know you never think of my heart beating.

You cut it, cold and clean; defeating.

And I alone cling to a hope beyond fleeting.

 

I tell myself with every evening sunset to forget you.

But with the rise of the new day, I think of you anew.

And then curse myself for being too weak to undue.

 

I write so many words to try and place all the pieces.

As if your love could be my life’s thesis.

But all I end with is an empty, love-sick treatise.

 

I promise if I see you I will not say hello.

I will pretend you are someone I do not know.

Though inside it will be killing me to do so.

 

I will want to shout your name

In hopes that you would do the same.

But I know there is nothing here we can reclaim.

 

I can’t understand why my heart’s release resists.

When barely a vision of what could have been persists

And Now Nothing Interesting Exists