Le Cygne

To Be Loving Someone

You preach to me that 'loving someone' shit

But how am I supposed to love when I can't find it?

Everything I do is for the sake of someone else

And I don't even know if love exists outside myself.

"I'm exaggerating" sure, and who are you to judge?

Every single one of us knows this is bigger than we are, more than such

Delusions of grandeur. Love didn't start with us and we won't be the ones to end it

(If it's even there at all) but that's not really the point, is it? I don't think it ever was.

You don't care if it's real, if its anything more than an Achilles heel,

If it feels or it bleeds or it begs on its knees for you, if it will kneel

And plead for you; you don't care if it exists at all. But you want it to, don't you?

More than anything, you want it to be true.

You'll ache for it always, it will swirl in your stomach like bile

And your desire will choke you, you will relish in it all the while

As it burns your throat and eats you away from the inside out

Screaming it's will upon you (let me be, let me live, God, please you're killing me please).

Maybe someday a thousand years and lives from now, you'll find it.

You'll find it and it will make you feel whole, make full that empty pit

That's taken root in your soul and breathe the life back into you

With gentle sighs and eyes like God and you will find solace (finally, finally, finally).

Is it real, though? Truly? They've been preaching that 'loving someone' shit

Since long before the universe concocted you and the bit

Will continue long after you're dead and your doubts have been devoured

By the soil, sun, and rain. Your 'love' will be nothing more than empty air.

But really, what's the harm in deluding yourself with false pretenses

Of devotion and selfless exoneration? You will grow and your senses

Will heighten and wither and in the end, what did it ever matter?

What did 'love' ever do to do you wrong? Why do you care so much?

"It's stings, it hurts, God, why do you let me burn for this?"

Nothing will ever be yours forever and nothing will ever be bliss

There is nothing in this universe that was promised to you to begin with

And love is doing its best to fill that void in your soul, if you'll let it.

You wouldn't ask the void why it's depths are so destitute,

Don't ask love why it chooses to remain silent;

You'd be mute, too, if you were only ever spoken of in absolutes.