Ophelia

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I know I love you.
I know you know it too,
but is it fair for us to hold on to what we once knew?
To continue writing a story that is undoubtedly hopeless?
To drive each other toward an improbable future?

For once I want you to tell me:
do we have any reason to stay?
Is there anything left to keep us here?
I believe we just have a lot to let go.

I know you love me,
but do you really love me?
Do you love me for how I think?
How I speak?
Do you care to know the depths of me
or just whatโ€™s on the surface?
Tell me.

I know what I want.
I want you to love me for how my mind works,
for how the gears turn and thoughts become art.
I want to spend time with your mind
and not just your body,
and I want you to want the same from me.

I know I love you,
but I am in a haze of knowing whether you love me
and I’m drowning.
Not knowing your intention is bane.
So do I go mad as Ophelia,
so be it,
for it would only be fitting.
Then, maybe, you would go bewildered
and play the part as Hamlet,
then I would know you whether meant it.

So Iโ€™ll submerge myself into you
or maybe into the depths of my loving you
and divide myself from my fair judgement.
Iโ€™ll forget thereโ€™s a way out.
Simply forget that I knew how to swim
and allow my body to linger in a pool of cool blue.

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