Is love real?
I like to ask myself this sometimes
When I want to feel contemplative
Although I come to the same conclusive five letter word every time.
The dreaming side of me is angry for asking such a thing, when the answer is yes
The fatalist in me scoffs for such a meaningless question, not even needing to say no
This. Is why I fear answering my friends when they ask
“Do you like him?”
“Maybe.” Is what I think
Maybe invokes such a deep self-hatred inside of me.
Is “Maybe” what my mother felt about my father
When she cheated on him?
Of the word.
But Maybe it could be more.
I could love you the way I love pretty boys who are out of my league
But I know this isn’t true
For how good you are.
And how sure you are about me.
You deserve something better, than
Copyright © Audrey Phillips | Year Posted 2019
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