They say the hardest part of falling in love
is knowing when to let go.
For love isn’t flying, spinning, or dancing
Persistent like a jagged, broken film reel
Playing in an endless, infinite cycle in your head
Fragmented into grasps of laughter, restless conversations,
long, savoured, loving stares.
Shhh, baby, go to sleep
And a warm blanket that smells like him
pulls over your head and covers your world.
Open your eyes.
A garden of icy snapshots,
Each one a tiny paper cut
to a faintly beating heart:
a bird with shattered wings led on by a seed on strings,
just barely out of reach.
They say the worst part of falling in love
is the pain of letting go.
But I think the worst part of being in love
is the unrealistic hope.