Dead ends.

by Poet on the Piano   Mar 12, 2024


And I am loneliest after midnight,
after my mind exhausts the possibility
of alternate realities where you loved me.

I can’t even lull myself into a falsehood;
I realize the lie a second in.
And so I sleep without the comfort
of a fantasy,
without one moment of hope that
you and I were anything
but who we were.

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