I fall in love with love that isn’t mine.

I watch it unfold,

silver-lit faces, hands brushing, eyes speaking

a language I do not know.

They say love is real, but it lives in pixels,

pressed between frames,

drenched in soft-lit music

that never plays for me.

❤️

I fall in love with love that isn’t mine,

with hands that never reach for me,

with eyes that never hold my gaze,

with voices wrapped in melodies

that fade when the credits roll.

❤️

Love looks soft, love looks easy,

Love hurts, love turns to tragedy,

love looks like something I could hold…

if only I could step inside the screen.

But I am here, and they are there.

No matter how beautiful it seems, I can’t draw near.

💔

I used to dream in pastels,

float in the warmth of imagined arms,

but my fingers found only air.

Love was a world I wandered in,

a kingdom built on scenes and scripts,

but I was not cast in the story.

Still, I linger backstage,

watching it all play out.

❤️‍🩹

I turn it off sometimes,

the glowing illusions,

because what good is a dream

that crumbles in daylight?

💔

I tell myself I do not care.

Books are enough.

Purpose is enough.

Sacrifice is love, they say.

Not deep, not sweet,

just given, just gone.

💔

But what of the magic?

The rush, the ache, the madness?

The love I once believed in…..

was it ever real?

Or was it just another fantasy,

folded away like old letters

from a lover that never came?

💔

I try not to visit that world anymore.

And yet, some nights,

I still press play.

❤️‍🩹

I still press play,

let the glow pull me in,

let the warmth of fiction settle on my skin

like something real, something close.

But the scenes do not hold me as they once did.

The dialogue fades, the longing dims,

and I wonder if I was ever meant to feel it at all.

I remind myself…. That I do not belong in the main scene.

💔

I watch them reach for each other,

meet in the middle, find their rhythm.

But my hands stay empty,

my chest stays still.

I used to think love was waiting,

hiding just beyond the credits,

but maybe it was never written for me.

💔

So I turn away,

pull the covers higher,

try to lose myself in plain reality instead.

Love is not deep,

just given, just gone.

That’s what they say.

That’s what I tell myself

when the silence stretches too long.

💔

But still, some nights,

when the air feels thick with something missing,

I let the screen flicker back to life.

I let the stories hold me,

just for a little while.

Even if love is far, even if love is fiction,

it is something,

and something

is better than nothing at all.

❤️‍🩹

This songs gets me….

https://youtu.be/TzgG_V8tVPw?si=K8uEdyOOmAxuvKWH