the heartbroken poet

It’s hard
To be in love
and not pause for a moment and relish the euphoria
To see a pretty face
and not be reminded of that first kiss when you made a complete fool of yourself
To breathe in your first kretek on a cold winters night
and not let the sweetness seep up from your lips and throat to your brain
To have conjured an alliteration so amazingly aesthetic
and not marvel at its unusability in anything you write
It’s hard
To have words
wanting to line up in pretty patterns
and not smile at the irony that they once refused to line up when you tried.

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