to give up,

on hopeless dreams,

or,

to dream, hopelessly,

about love,

and,

the pain it brings.

a curse,

or,

perhaps,

a blessing.

its purpose remains unclear.

the fog dissipates,

i can see clear,

there is love in every aspect,

in every bit of poison,

and,

even when backstabbed,

we still love.

we are bound,

intertwined by fate,

has if,

caged,

like a bird.

cruel destiny where,

those meant to fly,

cannot,

and,

where once freedom blossomed,

now remains only the garbage,

the putrid and vile.

what is love and,

what is it like to be loved?

i wouldn't know.

do you?