|44| wishful thinking

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when I look at your face, butterflies don't flutter restlessly in my belly as if they've been set free from an eternity of captivity.
not anymore.

my heart strings don't beat to a symphony too unrequited when our eyes meet.
not anymore.

my lost thoughts don't wander off in search of a happy place and find you instead.
not anymore.

just sometimes
just once—once—in a blue moon
I find strands of my own wishful thinking
unveiled in front of me
beguiling me to hold onto them
with a pain too sweet:

what would we have been like,
if only you'd let it happen?

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