I do not believe in things that cannot be true,
Insects but not angels.
I did not believe in this thing we call love,
I could not touch it or quantify it.
You told me everyday, and I smiled, condescending,
But you accepted what I would not say.
I was always the cynic,
I did not believe in broken hearts,
Now I cannot reason away misery,
And trusted semantics have crumbled to ash.
I cannot change the person I am.
I miss you more than I can begin to explain,
Never before did I want to believe in Fairytales.
Would that I was rich in faith,
And could imagine you waiting for me, happy and safe.
But when I am in that twilight place,
Caught between waking and sleeping,
I feel your presence and know it is wishful thinking.
I would never have believed that my heart could be breaking.