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Creating Magic

I asked out a glowing soul.

She said no.

Makes sense,

why should I be the guy who gets to see her smile every day?

I’m just a drunk, washed-up fighter,

who pretends to be a writer;

and she’s Aphrodite reincarnated.

She’s an angel,

and I sip whiskey on the rocks with the devil on weekends.

I’m an old dying man,

while she’s young and more than beautiful.

Her energy is joyful and contagious,

They say mine is ‘peaceful, but troubled.’

Her eyes sparkle,

mine are sad and have big dark circles surrounding them.

It makes sense,

it really does,

but there is no logic when it comes to these things.

and it still hurts deeply.

I want to be enough of a man to deserve her,

and understanding

that I’ll probably never be….

it’s an ice pick getting driven into my little heart.

It does make sense… doesn’t it?

She’s too good for me, I knew this,

yet, I still asked her out.

I thought I could create magic.

I thought that’s how the best love stories start.

But I can’t create magic;

I can’t fall in love.

I never learned how.

It all makes sense.


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