Anything feels meaningless after endlessly repeating it.
I'm in love with you.
I'm in love with you.
I'm in love with you.
Raging in my head.
Spinning round like a carousel just waiting to be released by my lips. There's no place for me to free the phrase. I question whether I can still love you if you won't let me? I can't tell if I'm repeating this out of habit and fear of change or if I still feel it.
YOU ARE READING
Blue Eyes and Other Sources of Drowning
PoesiaFor the boy with blue eyes. For the love and friendship I grieved, and many other things. Started: 11/20/20 Finished: 8/8/22 My 8th poetry book.