I think that maybe I can’t see beauty
without falling in love with it just a little bit:
It sends spikes to my heart, my lips part
and I want a taste to see what it’s like.
The scent, the sight, the chase, the flight–
all idealized but it’s not real life.
It’s an illusion, a could be version of something
that will never be-
limited by my own finite mortality.
Choice is the enemy and time is the trickster.
But I dive in anyway, in love with the idea
and laying bricks, building paths till I fix her.
Days pass, weeks and months
and her stunts get old,
my heart chills cold and I’m trapped.
The ideal is fractured
and my resolve weakened,
those ever-bright beacons of hope
have lost their fire.
Desire is dead.
But back to my head:
Is it wrong to live in a world that doesn’t exist,
to rip walls and live blind to the risk;
To dash my heart upon the rocks,
again and again?