I wonder if she knew that you contacted me,
that you said you wished you were the person I marry.
Time has a cruel sense of humor, doesn’t it?
She wore her triumph like a crown,
but a crown made of glass cuts the one who holds it.
I don’t need your confession to feel chosen.
I have no desire to reclaim what was lost.
Some loves are better left as ghosts we outgrow.
***
P.S Please don't misunderstand. This poetry is not about anyone. It comes from imaginary love story. Thanks!
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