Modern Romanticism

Always inside,
tracing your scars,
in a vain attempt
to connect the stars
that pulled us,
together.

Even in this web,
we are always apart,
limiting words
to passionate verbs,
hearing our stories
with nothing
to be matched.

I've wanted you to
call to me, always by
the one you've known,
without letting go.

But you keep crying
under this desire
to dissect, who you
refuse to select.

I am no one
but a gift to keep
sustaining your curse,
as I retreat back to
those long shadows,
those corners where I
have space to rehearse.

But I do not want
to keep up this deception
to a mirror, where I
do not wish to mention,
do not wish to repeat
a promise of defeat.