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Second-hand Romance
C.L. Gingerich
What is this love?
This second-hand romance
It was once so full of life
And happiness
But now is full of despair
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I’m dead inside
Going through struggles
Leading to no apparent ending
We relapse to our old selves
No one is perfect
Yet I can’t help feeling like
A third class citizen in your eyes
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I know I’ve asked you before
But I’ll ask once more
Do you love me?
Would you give up your petty ways
For me?
Would you grow up with me?
Or revert back to the age of juvenility?
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My greatest fears are coming true
You are not as you once were
The laughter that comes from my lips
Is tainted with a bitter frown
I can’t fake it for long
Such silly banter is not my style
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I would’ve enjoyed nothing more
Than to grow old within your arms
But now I’m not sure anymore
You’re such a Peter Pan
Never wanting to grow up
I can’t take it much longer
I desire more
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But I won’t give up just yet
I have no thought as to why
God spoke to me that winter night
And said, “You can’t leave”
It was all so clear back then
When there weren’t throngs of bodies between us
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Do you know what love means?
Why must I cry for you and for me?
I hate it
I cry out in pain, in anguish, in confusion
Don’t you love me?
What happened to our talk of the future and family?
When I can’t even see past tomorrow anymore
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I fall to the ground and moan
Weeping for what you don’t understand
Nothing I say seems to penetrate
I don’t want to control you
But can’t you respect my needs?
I lay on the cold tile floor
Crying out to God in terrible groans
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I LOVE YOU!
But day by day I wonder why
You change every time you leave me
Coming back, you’re a stranger with new theories
It’s not you
And I don’t like it
Stop trying to fix everything by your self
It’s not your responsibility to change people
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I want to be your support
But all I feel from you is empathy
Our lips do not meet so passionately
As they once did
I miss our zeal for life
What has happened?
What has happened to this love?
This unstable, breaking romance
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Am I worth it to you?
To fix this… this mess of our doing