Surviving Heartbreak

Immortal For You

Sometimes I wish I were immortal,
not just to see the future unfold,
but to be here,
always,
waiting for you to come back.

I've loved you since the moment I saw you,
fell for you slowly, carefully,
like building a home out of fragile dreams.
For two and a half years,
we were everything—
and then, we were nothing.
You said I'd get over you eventually.
You'd be pleased to know
I did.

I built a life
where you no longer existed,
grieved you as though you'd died.
I mourned our future,
and even our past.
I moved on—
until life, with its cruel humor,
showed me you're not dead.
You're alive, you're well.

I should be happy for you,
and I am,
but seeing you, hearing you—
it's a cruel irony.
It feels like a test,
the universe playing tricks,
dangling our happiness
just out of reach.

I know I'd fall for you again,
in a heartbeat,
if I let my heart take control.
But I can't.
I want to,
but I can't.
Not after all the pain.
It feels like life is laughing at me—
showing me what was,
what could have been,
and what can never be.

So, yes—
I wish to be immortal,
to wait for the day
life finally lets us be.
But life won't, will it?
Not now.
Not again.

Maybe in five years—
if you still feel this love,
find me.
If we're meant to be,
life will guide you back,
as it did now.
And maybe, just maybe,
it won't feel like a test.

—MistakenGenius