Everything but the Love

My love for you is not simple.

I can’t say “our love” because then that one phrase wouldn’t be true.

You don’t love me, and you’ll never love me.

And it makes me so livid and angry, to think of that.

Because when I think of you, it’s supposed to be happiness,

Not hopelessness.

Pessimistic, optimistic, are the same in my mind when you’re around.

Our love, in the perfect dream world that you’ve created with me, is anything but simple, either.

It takes two to collide, muddle, and combine together.

Our worlds together are strong, and perfect in the imperfect way that we know how to live.

So real, unreal, the same.

So simple, so complicated, everything about us is the same.

It would be simple, if we could intertwine and be just the same.

Everything would be similar, the same,

Everything but the love.