There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.
– Friedrich Nietzsche
Loss of Love
I loved you once, but now I’m not so sure.
Can love be finite? It looks to be so.
It’s quite an illness—there must be a cure
For loss of love—a potion to ensure
Boundless affection, in an endless flow.
I loved you once, but now I’m not so sure
That any potion that I could procure
Could mirror, even faintly, that first glow—
It’s quite an illness—there must be a cure.
Although I crave the mystical allure
Of budding love, perhaps all love must go.
I loved you once, but now I’m not so sure
That I can love again—as we mature,
I wonder if love’s something to outgrow.
It’s quite an illness—there must be a cure
For love. It leaves me sad and insecure.
I must have grown immune to Cupid’s bow.
I loved you once, but now I’m not so sure—
It’s quite an illness—there must be a cure.
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