They say that emotion makes for bad poetry.
This will be a bad poem.
Lies, loss, and love
All come to mind.
Did she lie?
Not really.
What did I lose?
No more than hope.
Do I love her?
I wish I knew.
I thought I did,
but with what I believe
I can't keep thinking that.
She never promised me anything.
I foolishly let myself assume it.
She never said anything, thinking back.
I could be getting worked up over nothing.
Maybe he loves her as a friend — or as he would a sister?
But no, my gut tells me otherwise.
Where do I go from here?
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