And To Think I Knew What Love Was
Do we love for love or love for us? Repeated cycles, mistakes, and unsaid confessions.
I used to think I knew what love was.
I’d bask away in my thoughts dreaming of an everlasting love. To find a soul to mend my heart, and to bring me back to the pedestal I once resided. I disorganized the idea of myself and became infatuated with the love someone else could infect me with. A disease of the heart. Tattered and torn, unsure how to live with myself and the achievements I desired.
I needed someone else to live for me, I needed someone to blame for my despair. To point fingers when I refused the looking glass. To brush off my wrongs and instead set off like a bomb. Leering into your concepts, judgment filling the putrid air as if a disappointed mother. Manipulating perceptions, and acting as troubles are the fault of the world. Endlessly drifting through a universe that is against me, hopeless romantic of sorts.
I used to live for love like it was owed to me. As ruler of the world, soft kisses to my feet. Conceptual recognition left unseen, and distraught I remained.