Surviving Heartbreak

Anything Less

Lukewarm love is a flame that flickers,
a hesitant glow that never burns.
It's a touch that grazes but never stays,
an I love you, but—
and not just I love you.

A half-hearted promise whispered to the void,
unheard, unseen, unfelt.
Why would I want a love
that neither scars nor soothes?
It's like standing at the edge of a road,
waiting to cross—
not when it's empty, not when it's full—
a hesitation that paralyzes.

It's a fire that warms but fears to ignite,
a melody with lyrics intact
yet still out of tune,
a love that cannot find its rhythm.

How can you love me,
yet not fear losing me?
Love trembles, love aches,
love clings to the thought of its loss—
but lukewarm love stands still.
It gives nothing,
and asks even less.

It lights the heart,
but never keeps it lit.
And yet, people stay—
thinking a little love is better than none,
thinking it's too much to leave,
too little to stay.
But they are wrong.

Lukewarm love is a quiet ghost,
a shadow of what could have been everything—
but isn't.
It is fear,
not love.

For me?
I want the fire that burns,
that scars and soothes in equal measure.
I want to drown in it,
feel it take over my lungs,
press into my bones,
etch its truth into my soul.

Love is real when it hurts,
when it heals,
when it lives fiercely.
Call me reckless, call me masochistic,
but I want a love that melts us into one,
that consumes,
that is.

Because anything less—
is nothing at all.

—MistakenGenius