What if the love you feel isn’t real, the path you’re walking doesn’t exist, and admitting you’re lost is the only way to stop being damned?

A brutally honest poem exploring the dangerous habit of self-deception in matters of love and life purpose.

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Sometimes, love doesn’t need words,

the essence breathes in a shy, fragrant smile

But then, you see what you want to see,

from up close, even when away by a mile

Sometimes, there is and was no love at all,

and assumptions sweeten the taste of bile

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Sometimes, you do not even need love,

yet you convince yourself, it is needed

But then, you’re habitual of creating needs,

in places where life itself has conceded

Sometimes, love as a concept is not logical at all,

yet your counsel to yourself remains unheeded

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Sometimes, you focus on one, losing yourself,

everything becomes one with no space for you

But then, there was never meant to be a you,

you become a falsity, and the other becomes true

Sometimes, your focus just brings more pain,

yet you focus on, as though you have no clue

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Sometimes, you are not walking any path at all,

there was never a start, and no destination

But then, you walk on as though it’s the last path,

as though in walking, there lies your salvation

Sometimes, you are just as lost as you always were,

yet you fail to admit, making it your true damnation