This is what I tell myself
after I say my final prayer,
as I try, and fail, to sleep.
Because…
What if itisthe same?
I think she could love me,
if circumstances were different.
But for us, love is perilous.
She will be okay if we are friendship.
If we are flirtation.
If we are romance in a fanciful turret,
and long kisses on a cramped sofa.
She will be okay if the
(bittersweet) feelings are mine alone.
I love her, I love her, I love her,
but she does not
(cannot) love me back.
She will not be okay if her heart is vested.
It will doubtlessly be broken,
and while I can endure the guilt
that comes with courting her,
if Ihurther, regret will bury me.
There is so much she will never
(can never) know.
The promises I made before her
will seem ill-conceived,
and my commitments
will hold no weight.
Centuries of tribal strife will end
if I fulfill my duty,
