Love is a beautiful thing.
Losing it is one of the saddest.
The nostalgia eats at your inner self.
And every waking thought becomes painful.
Real love is worse.
You fall so deep you almost can’t climb out.
Or maybe you don’t want to.
It would mean giving up.
Becoming a quitter at love.
Is like quitting your life altogether.
How do you explain it?
How it is not just one favorite song that makes you sad?
It is the first song she danced to.
The first song you made love to.
Or maybe even a whole genre that she introduced to?
How do you explain why a happy song makes you sad now?
Why that song you sent to cheer her up now breaks you down piece by piece?
Why a part of your house can only be looked at from the corner of your eye?
Why you can’t make some meals anymore?
Why you only sleep on one side of the bed?
Why you can’t visit your favorite restaurant anymore?
Why you have to make new memories?
Only a person in your shoes can get it.
Why your poetry is now only world inspired?
When she was the sole inspiration before.
Why a flight away means so much and yet so little?
Why life seems slow?
Why every passing minute you wish would hurry up to the next hour?
The next day, the next week?
The next month, the next year?
So that you can forget.
As you have before.
The wheel spins.
I am watching and waiting.
To hit the jackpot.
Or lose it all.
Love is a beautiful thing.
The beautiful prize at the end of a gamble.

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