ON THE SUBJECT OF ROMANCE

Love has always been a jigsaw

Puzzle, where adoration came in

The form of drops and weakly

Constructed texts only meant

To ravenously devour a body

That wasn’t earned, rather

Tampered with to make it a

Means towards an end. It

Left you desperate, wildly

Searching for a true light

To make up for half-beaten

Paths, taken to satiate selves

And stop being an excuse for

Someone else’s self-worth, to

Help you forget candles lit at

1 am, drives on roads that led

To nowhere, lunches that were

A ruse, and never an attempt

To give, only take and take

Words that were used to cut

Off from something that never

Saw a beginning and started

With an end, these parts only

Make the pieces come together

For you were never looking for

Poor short stories with no hero

In them, you were always on..

A hunt for the perfect novel

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