I was falling in love with the poet
with his words,
with the words we had written.
Dying to feel them
convincing ourselves they were true
that such bliss was possible.
Held captive by our emotions,
pitting our minds against our hearts
never dreamed that the words
we brought to life in our poetry
couldnt come off the paper.
The stream of words that flowed out of our mouths
with our hearts in mind were held back by inertia.
While love was our inspiration
it was our minds that wrote the words
that we wanted our hearts to feel.
Reality crushed our prose,
erased the words that covered the paper,
and broke my heart.
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