On infatuation, or, rather, everything.

‼️This short snippet is not a reflection of me, 
it is an entirely fictional look into a constructed character, 
who just so happens to go by the same name, 
has the same nationality, 
goes to the same school as me and 
is trying to write a shitty little poem on his laptop at 8:40PM on the 24th of November 2023. ‼️

I am in love with an idea, not a person. 
My love is a false image, constructed through memories, day dreams and false hopes. 
My love is not a typical love: one of joy and pain; 
gifts given and received or 
time spent together and time spent apart, 
thinking of one another. 
My love is an infatuation.

I can still remember the time where it was like any other love story, 
our paths crossing and 
the once imposing mess of darkness that filled my soul 
replaced with a vivid red. 
The indescribable feeling of having your body engulfed in complete serenity, 
while also being stripped naked of any weight, 
feeling as if all that’s left is that shitty grin on your face. 
It’s a nice feeling, I guess.

I want to be able to express my feelings, 
but I can’t; 
all that’s left is this shitty wannabe-poet stuff, 
I guess that’s a way to mask what I truly think? 
To never give a straight answer by making corny poems,
that I try to hide through the illusion of paragraphs, 
just so I can leave a way to crawl out of the 
inevitable fuck-ups I will create along the way, 
by simply expressing the things that should have been left unsaid, 
the things said too late and 
the things that were never said at all. ↓

In a way, I have my very own Ariadne's string.
Whenever I try to put my words out there, 
I have to sift them through layers of ego and 
self-restraint, 
half to be able to order the mess of them, 
but also half so that I can have my way out of the labyrinth, 
out of fear that what I say will just lead to worse, 
or better yet, 
nothing.
                

The first paragraph is very random, I know. I wrote it as a little jab at my ex-girlfriend, as the 'poem' was about her and a little while before I had written it she had given me a book she'd written, in which she started the story by writing a little disclaimer about how the characters were fictional and represented nobody, when in reality the main character was an extension of herself, which I'm sure she didn't even realise.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the poem, it was very messy and long. Truth is, I didn't really mean for it to be a poem, it was just a snippet of my journal until I split it into verses. But I do think it's got that corniness that something needs to be considered a poem.