is love a lie? i ask
earnestly.
being
confronted, faced
with this journey
toward not loving
you, which
is a lie, that
final act
of lying to my
self, saying
i no longer love
you. the distance
between us
measures
how much i miss
you, and that
distance
is immeasurable. my
heart beside this
sea, heart
you briefly held, where
now its paltry wings
now stoney and
scaled, heart
that beats, breathes
your name, even
as i try to forget
your name your
visage, scent.
war is hell, war
within the self
gives hell its flames,
defines the meaning
of cold solitude. when i
force myself to not
love you, i love you
even more.
how could it be
any different, since
i built this room
within my heart
you dwell within, even
as you vacate it,
always remaining.
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