You are disillusioned
enough, disenchanted perhaps, desensitized even.
And then you realize that it is not a fairy tale, not words, not
written in songs, not expressed in cards, not sent between
text messages, not exchanged in emails, not in a Facebook
“in a relationship with” post, #notatwitterhashtag, not what
is defined in an anonymous blog page, not in someone you’ve
known for years, not in a stranger, not attainable even after
you gave your everything, not learned even after you’re given
his everything, not a promise, not a war to wage, not a
trophy partner, not exclusive, not an excuse to cheat, not
the assurance you won’t be cheated, not bound by time, not
bought by anything, not a dream, not permanent, not a
game, not an act, not attraction, not pleasure, not ensured
by a ring, not an obligation, not the payment to a debt, not
marriage, not in having a child with, not the one I saw in your
eyes, not the one you found in me, not in a kiss, not in the
sweetest embrace, not in the person who felt so right, not in
the man of your dreams, not in bed, not in any connection,
not the truth, not feelings, not kindness, not sex, not magic.
It takes a lifetime dying to know what it is.