Blogging / First love

In this place.

This ground has always been
Beyond shaky
But always there.
Dependably undependable.
Predictably, erratic.
I always know that I know nothing when it comes to you,
But in many ways, that means I know everything.
And every time has always been the same:
Unhealthy,
Falsified,
Obsessive,
Nourishing,
Truthful,
Hostile,
Then over.

We’re in the nourishing stage.
The one that gives me some hope.
That dangerous thing that keeps me thinking
We won’t get to the rest of the pattern.
But God, it’s so fucking beautiful right here.
Every time, I think
Maybe this time we can live here.
Maybe this time we’ll stay.
But we never have.
And even in that sentence you can see,
Hope has taken over me.
If I’d made it a present progressive,
I’d know I have no hope,
But I can see that I do.
Damn it.

Hope is the place we live
When we move out of reality, of truth.
The place where our lies build the walls
And the bridges we’ve spent years burning.
And it’s so beautiful there.
It’s so fucking beautiful here,
This time I think I’ll stay.

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