"would the universe fight for our paradoxical hearts?"
You say our hearts could be bulletproof,
You say we're matches lit up, we'll never burn out,
You say we're an abstract art in a canvas painted through,
You say this forever journey of love is the best route,
Yet the paradox exists-- we can never be one.
I wrote about the freefall, your eyes, your smile--
the entirety of your beauty
Looking past but through your heart and soul,
Forging deep blue fear and rosewood love--
Love is a sweet poison until you realize formulating an antidote is difficult,
If the paradox of fear twins up with hatred, why do we love?
Two hearts beating,
with the effort of trying to be at the same rhythm,
Missing a whole note, taking a quarter rest
when the slicing pain of sweet poison takes on--
of fear, of misunderstanding, of jealousy, of the sad hypothetical truth that I may never be able to love,
And when the rhythm falls out of tune, the pianist stops playing.
It's a paradox of self-medicating oneself through love,
And yet fearing the downfalls, the heartbreak,
The absolute uncertainty that our hearts, might yet be penetrating bullets from the other
We're matches lit up, blown by the wind of cruel fate,
"we're all born to love, and cursed to feel", it whispered, burning out the flame between us,
We're an abstract art meant to be understood by the best of artists, even yet like Picasso
But we're only colors dripping out of a canvas, with shades of memories left behind,
It's a paradox I loved you when I don't even know what love is,
It's a paradox you were my universe, when it felt like a mesmerizing black hole--
exhibiting a gravitational acceleration that nothing, nor I would have wanted to escape it
It's a paradox we believed this was the best route,
When we've reached this tragic end, only to realize we're meant to come home to ourselves.