G. W. Rowan

You don’t understand—

The meaning of life is love.

In all of its ugly forms:

Falling,

Hopeless,

Platonic,

Yearning,

Unrequited,

Fleeting.

The point of love isn’t always to last.

Some love only lives long enough

To be remembered.

And that’s okay.

I will continue to love hard and fast.

I will continue to give

What I want to receive.

Even when it burns me.

Even when I’m left broken.

I will continue to live,

And I will continue to love.

That is the meaning of life.

The line between lovers and friends—

We walk it delicately.

Swaying back and forth,

Never fully stepping

To either side.

With others, the line is clear.

I’m careful never to veer.

But with you, the path is foggy.

The line is narrow, cracked.

We stumble together,

And apologize for overstepping.

But we walk this line together—

Careful

Not because we don’t feel,

But because we do.

You loved me.

Once, I know you did.

If not for long,

Maybe just a moment—

But you loved me.

I swear you did.

You are not mine

And I am not yours

We are connected,

We are entwined.

We live in each other’s heads,

But you are not mine

And I am not yours.

We love each other deeply.

We are careful with our words.

We have changed each other-

Mind, body, and soul.

But you are not mine

And I am not yours.

So I will live here,

And love here,

In this haunted house

Of unspoken feelings,

Of lingering stares,

Of gentle touches,

And late-night whispers.

Where I make a home

Out of what cannot be held-

Where you are not mine,

And I am not yours.

I like to live in the unknown,

Beneath my blanket of denial,

On my bed of half-truths.

I like to live in the unknown

For it is better to be confused,

Than to be proven wrong,