I smiled
at you
today; I couldn’t help
it. That means it’s genuine,
you know. And I can still feel
it in my heart:
warmth.
I felt my heart
and my mind
disconnect.
I looked
at you—
noticed your body.
Your face;
your eyes;
your cheeks;
your smile.
It was all so familiar.
I listened
to you. I heard
the bitterness
that you passed off as a joke.
I heard
the bitterness
that you passed off as a story.
I got defensive
toward the first.
Toward the second
I merely looked through
the façade
and sadly
noted your own miscalculation.
But my heart
stayed still.
Content;
connected;
enjoying
the familiar
companion.
The sense of knowing
and being known.
My heart
wanted to stay—
wanted to bask forever
in what is only momentary
peace
and fragile
safety.
My mind
is ever watching—
ever guarding
my broken,
misguided,
longing
heart.
My mind
broke
the news:
“You cannot
stay here. You are not
truly connected. This moment
will not
last. The façade will drop.
The smile will fade.
And the warmth will turn cold.
It is time to leave.”
My heart
obeyed. She walked away. “But
I can still feel
the warmth,”
she whispers. “It is genuine.”
My mind
must sternly
reply: “It was genuine once,
but what you feel are only
remnants—
remnants
of the genuine, and remnants
of my façade.”
“I will always believe,”
my heart
whispers, “Always feel the
warmth;
always hope;
always love.”
My mind
gives its final
report: “She is hopeless.”
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