It's strange because
It's like a plot of a novel.
It's like someone made
Everything
Up, because it actually happened-
This is happening.
I'm living a lie, in secrecy,
And no one will ever know-
They can't know.
Because it doesn't matter- in a way.
Sometimes I feel things,
Sometimes I don't.
The self-loathing is deeply ingrained.
And the knowledge that this is all temporary
Both holds me back and pushes me forwards.
Maybe the problem is
I cannot romanticise him
I should not have ever romaticised people
Because now no one will be good enough
He is nice, he is kind and makes me laugh,
I care about him of course.
I find him attractive but after everything,
Even when he said I was beautiful
I think my feelings are to confused
And I have a choice to make.
Sweet boy, our timing is shit.
Maybe one day everything will align for you.
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
PoetryWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}