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“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.” ― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

There’s layers of a person that we must accept that we all fall a victim too. So is it so wrong to believe that the ideal version you see is true. The same one that gives you hope and love and the warm feelings that no one else can give.

Am I allowed to dream of cruel things that may bring us together. Lost loves that would eventually bring you to me. Is standing by your side enough? What more is there to do. Either I wallow on my own pity or succumb to the numbing feeling inside and move on. Leaving whatever existed behind.

Acknowledging that my existence holds less weight in your world is one thing, but to accept that I must be a mere planet in your orbit is another. To know that though I was given talent you took yours and made it true art.

I could dream of a world where my love - my obsession - meant something. Where what I felt was matched in equal. That you, or anyone else for that matter, didn’t create a gap, but closed it instead.

But I’m left with a love like a mere sculptor falling for their sovereign creation…