Prose

I think that I know my truth, but the hunger inside is a heartless liar; it fans the sadness and fuels the fire for something that I will never actually know. And through the years, I have tasted tears of loving without reward. I reach out my hand for something too grand for me to actually hold on to.

And with this luck that has never changed, I’ve been made tired and slightly deranged, but my focus is square and I don’t find it fair, to know that you’re just out of reach. Stiff upper lip while this sinking ship is abandoned and I’m left to drown. But tranquil, your face is my saving grace and all that I needed somehow.

False starts, false hope, giving in when given rope, to hang me out to dry.
But you’ve gone, once again, and I’ve lost so many times, that I can only pray that this time, I’ll actually win.

Is it you?
Can you be mine?
Just this time?
Before I lose myself and don’t know what else to do.
Is it you?

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