To Bridge The Gap

I’ve never been kissed on the dance floor. With him, I feel light-hearted, but apart, I’m utterly devastated. I’m a dreamer, he’s laid-back, and without a genuine connection, our love feels like scenes from a disconnected game— where hate destroys, yet love seeks to heal. But with each passing day, my love for him dwindles. We are apart because this kind of love cannot thrive. We never dance; we never kiss on the dance floor. Our rhythms never sync; he lacks that spark, and so, a kiss on the dance floor has eluded me. Feelings shift when loneliness takes their place. Love wavers, when a marriage crumbles, as I wish and hope our love was strong enough to bridge the gap. Unlike wildflowers plucked without care, my love was stunted, never given the chance to blossom. Still, I hold a profound respect for him. A part of me must make a choice, and so I choose happiness; I choose solitude over the confusion of pity masquerading as love.