the art of fate

we are falling in love back where we were
under the clouds
your hand on mine,
I keep telling myself
that we'll be alright.
I don't think I can keep lying to myself
I don't know what to do,
when I look into your eyes
nothing but coldness
because you know it too.
and every day,
I was just getting closer to you.
only to end up
getting further from you.
but every poem
consists of me missing you
and I wonder,
does every day you spend
consist of missing me?