Love, true love, never ends, even when you want it to, need
for it to, like a bad penny that keeps jamming up the coin-counting machine, recalls
at that once was, and what caused that penny to bend.
You have to live with it, unrequited or not, this lingering
sense of what once felt joyful, and later, painful, and finally – if blessed –
like nothing at all.
Love like this is like the tip of a dagger, broken off
inside my heart, not quite deep enough to be fatal, yet there, always, and at
times, poking at me to remind me it is still there, making me sometimes wish I
could either expel it or let it finish the job it started, and it never does,
it just pokes me again and again with memories of what was once so sweet, and a
reminder of how it all went sour, and still, painful or not, I still treasure
it.
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