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Our perfect love exists in a broken reality, and even then, we still seek for validation.

I always thought that this story will be written by us. Instead, I wrote it alone.

I created the perfect story for both of us. We were best friends, the kind that was inseparable, the kind that understood each other even with just the faintest shadow of a frown. We were like lovers, but sort of not there. Of course, I wanted some drama. So, I created her, the one you're falsely infatuated with before you could eventually realize where your heart belonged - to me. I got lost between realizing what was real and what was not. The idea of a perfect fairy tale blinded me into thinking that we were meant to be. I made up situations; I made up conversations; I made up all these songs that translated our love perfectly. Except, none of these were real. You weren't planning on singing to me so I could forgive you after a mistake. You weren't planning on buying me snacks (your treat!) whenever I get too busy and forget to eat. You weren't interested on laying my head on your shoulder when I was tired enough to function. You weren't planning on boasting to everyone else how we met up until how close we've become. But it was all so addicting. Even though I am aware of the fact that these events couldn't be any more possible than unicorns gliding on rainbows, I still hold on to them as if they were facts. And with the way I cling to that false perception of reality, I generate hope that one day - even without those perfect scenarios earlier - we could be together.

How can one immediately forget about happiness, but remember heartbreak like it was only yesterday?

In the end, I just became another subject of your broken poetry.