Ignore the infinite chills.
you are burnt paper meant to be left to fly away—
as dust. as memories to be forgotten. as once upon a time.
whether or not i could weather the painful decisions
i’ve inflicted upon my sensitive nature, there is no other choice.
i was left with no other choice.
you are the ever relentless wind amongst the storm—
of countless troubles and wistful impossibilities.
I will tire from thinking of you. I will tire of wishing for you.
someday, I will be rid of you. someday, I will forget you.
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Tags: literature, love, poem, poetry