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When I first met you,
My heart fluttered back to being a normal 12-year-old girl.
A 12-year-old girl who reads her horoscope
Like she’s supposed to read the Bible,
And who compares your zodiac sign to hers to see if your stars will ever line up.
Lucky for us it’s the year of The Eclipse.

My mind drifted off to a far-off land
Where I believed in fairy tales and Princes,
And the chance to plan my own wedding,
Like all the other girls I knew.

I love the story about humans.
The one where Zeus made us with 2 heads and 4 arms and 4 legs,
But then he felt threatened by us,
So he split us into 2 and my soul flew to you as if begging you
To be my other half.
But you were too busy worrying about being financially stable in 5 years.
You didn’t have time to believe in souls.

Where did the stars go wrong?

Maybe it’s because
You grew up with Jesus and family suppers
And I grew up learning
That if you want to hurt someone you slash
3 of their tires and not 4.
Because insurance companies believe if you’re not
FULLY broken then you must
Not
Be broken.
And I think this really speaks about our society.

If we aren’t
FULLY broken bodies,
Then we must
Not be broken.

If I just
Lost my job but I still have a big house then I must
Not
Be broken.

If I just
Lost my dog but I still have my children then I must
Not
Be broken.

If I just
Have a few scars on my wrists
But I’m not hooked up to an IV drip and overdosing on Morphine then I must
Not
Be broken.

Quiet Renaissance Man you are
The best thing that almost happened to me.
But since we didn’t say certain words and you didn’t
FULLY
Happen to me,
Then I guess
None of this matters.

It’s like
We’re playing chess but,
The colors are all wrong and
You’re
Playing with your mind while I’m
Playing with my heart and
Why do we keep doing this to ourselves?

Why don’t we just crash into each other like stars?
Who cares if we cause a black hole.
Let the whole world will watch!

But Quiet Renaissance Man,
You’re not really a Renaissance Man.
You don’t open my car door for me,
You don’t walk me to my door at night.
Dear Quiet Renaissance Man,
You don’t even hold my hand.

Maybe it’s just me but,
Are you even a Renaissance Man?
Or is this just one big lie?
And if so,
Who are you trying to fool?
Me?
Or you?

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