I Am Not In Love

I am not in love, I tell myself. Faint words
do not reverberate, however, I know
that I am very good at fooling myself.
I should feel the vibration,
or so they say.

I am not in love.

Scribbled words running off
loose leaf.
Words left in the margins,
underneath the dotted line.
No Strings Attached
Or so they say.

I am not in love.

My hand on
the small of your back.
The taste of cold.
Wind blows headlines down
the sidewalk.
Adjusting coats and
gloves.
Skin remained covered,
to prevent frostbite,
or so they say.

How much prose
can relinquish this fire,
this intensity, which coincides
with disillusion?
When does an act of grace
become an act of convenience?

I am not in love.

Every once in awhile you find yourself at a crossroad,
or you feel like you’ve reached a dead end.
Life is hard to handle sometimes, and so are the relationships we hold.
It’s very confusing.
Especially when it is between two people of the opposite sex.
The easiest way to explain this,
is that
it is not easy for most people to let themselves be vulnerable.
We all face so many hurdles in life,
trying to attain this goal that is (sometimes) unattainable.
Not all of our dreams will come true.
But that doesn’t mean we should lose sight
or become discouraged.

Or so they say.

That is why we are human.
We are willing to make these decisions
and prepare to accept the consequences in doing so.
We don’t allow ourselves to take breaks, simply because life does not stop.
We push forward. We strive. Although, sometimes life catches up to us.

We become irritable.
We become confused.
We become tired.

My life: far too much scrutiny.
In the end, I put too much thought into something
that changes my perspective.
Usually a distorted one.
That is why shutting down in a neurotic state is accepted.
A cool down period,
when all the while we know another meltdown is around the corner.

I am not in love.

Ideally, words should have the same
encompassing power.
But seeing as how I can not
determine what works well
for me, I have conditioned
myself to being adaptable.
No rhyme or reason,
will ease the pain
that seems to follow
your name.
And that is why
I repeat faint words.

I am not in love.
She never was.

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