Clipped wings

I love you enough to try.

Enough to break—

for you.

For my heart to shatter

into a million tiny pieces.

And even then,

I would still love you.

Unconditionally.

Because that's what my illness lets me do.

It makes me love you the moment I see you.

That's just how it works.

You might say,

"Damn, you're crazy to be like that."

And maybe I am.

But who cares?

You only live once, right?

So why not give it your all?

Even if it means

I get broken,

again

and again.

I would love you for eternity,

until the day I die.

But would you?

Would you love me the same?

Would you try—

hard enough

for us

to work?

I'm trying my best here.

But no matter how much I want to stay,

home…

home pulls at me.

It aches in my chest,

calling me back

to where I belong.

If I leave,

I lose you.

Because you don't want to try.

And I get it—

it's not easy.

But it's not impossible either.

At least, not for me.

For you?

It feels like it is.

So instead, I say,

"I'll stay."

Even if it makes me miserable.

Even if it breaks me

in ways

I might never repair.

Because I want you to love me

like I love you—

without hesitation,

with everything.

But that's not you, is it?

How am I supposed to leave

when my heart…

it just keeps pulling me back to you?

When it's always been you?

You don't see it.

You don't feel it.

And that terrifies me.

Because deep down, I know—

I'll be left with nothing

but a broken heart,

and a million shattered pieces

I'll have to pick up on my own.

And you?

You say it so calmly,

"Go, if you have to.

I'll move on."

Like it's easy.

Like it's nothing.

Do you even feel this the way I do?

Or am I just here,

clipping my own wings,

locking myself in a cage

I built for you?

I waited.

Two. Whole. Years.

For you to see me.

For you to feel this.

And I'd wait ten more,

if it meant we had a chance.

But you?

You're ready to let me go.

And I…

I'm ready to stay.

Even if it destroys me.

So tell me—

Is this love?

Or am I the only one dreaming?