Love Which Fails

They say that all good things must come to an end,
And that if it did not end well, it has not ended yet.

How easy it is to convince ourselves of a continuity,

To hold to an imaginary thread of hope,

Waiting for the other to return,

For them to love, or even look us in the eye.

You will not understand this pain, nor will I,

The pain of waiting too much, or the pain of not waiting enough,

The pain of giving too much, and the pain of hoping for too much,

My words seem twisted, but even twisted are those people who never speak of this pain,

They stay silent, nurturing the remnants of their love into hate,

My poem is a result of their stories,

Stories where they were robbed off their entitlement.

They will ask you to choose a side,

And you will say that you stand by both,

But you are only an observer, a well-wisher,

Pondering how you got into this mess,

Wishing to run away from the problems of your dearests,

Yet no matter what your decision is, you will stain your relationships,

Because that is what love does.