Forget it, let’s not see each other anymore. We both know that this is going nowhere and nothing will ever happen between the both of us that is real.
…I know. And frankly, I know too well. But that’s why I keep coming back. That’s why this matters to me because I need to go nowhere and with you that’s where I always end up. And if we keep seeing each other at the crossroads like this all the time eventually we will be our mainstays and reach some kind of blissful happiness and serenity yet with detachment and self-indulgence. We’ll be in love. This is real love. Suspended hopelessness.
No. That’s bullshit. There’s no poetry in hopelessness. Not in real hopelessness. Poseur.
Around These Parts
