Fake love is love still.

“Why were you in love with me?” He wondered. His morning coffee sat quietly beside his toast, unstirred and unflavoured.

“I honestly don’t know.” She replied. “I feel that, maybe ‘we’ could’ve worked out.”

“But we both knew how it would end. We knew we weren’t made for it. Life is too easy for it to be just that.” He replied. “So, why did you stay?”

“Because helping you, in a way, helped me too.” She sat there, hand on her cup of coffee, sipping it, letting the slightly hot liquid warms up her cold body.

“Why? What good could you possibly gain by trying?” The crumbs of his toast fell as he munches them down one by one.

She put down her coffee and wondered off to the distance for a moment, before looking back into his eyes. The ones she spent countless hours staring into before. “Catharsis.”

“Maybe.” She continued. “Maybe, all I wanted was to love and be loved. And to say sweet encouragement and words of wisdom, hoping one day I too would be as strong and as brave as the person I led people to believe.”

“To you, I was just an emotional wreck that needed help is it?” He questioned.
“Yes. You could say.”
He took his time, thinking on what to say next. The morning clock ticked away in anticipation, without the need of any permission nor recognition, time moved on.

“It’s kind of funny when I think back about it.” He finally spoke up. “In a way, I too was using you.”
“I wanted to have someone to tell me that it was going to be okay, that life isn’t as hard as I make it out to be, and that maybe it will work out in the end.” He continued. “And you fit the description.”
“So, what were ‘we’?” She asked.

Sitting there within the roadside café amidst the morning crowd, the two stood among the others. A couple of misfits, or rather, a misfit couple.
“Therapy.” He answered.

“It’s not your fault I’m like this. And it’s not mine either that you’re the way you are. It’s just that sad people attract one another.” He explained.

She went on, ignoring her sandwich on the table. “But still, what are the chances of it working out? It’s a big world out there, I’m sure at least 1% of them would’ve worked out.”

“Sadly, my dear, we’re not that 1%. We’re the rest of the 99% losers. We’re the ones who think love alone could fix our problems but was too oblivious to the fact that ‘love’ too was a part of the problem.”

“We were too busy playing ‘love’ that we forgot to grow up.” He continued as he finished the rest of his tasteless coffee. “Two broken hearts won’t fix a single one.”

“So, why did we bother at all?” She asked, staring onto him, looking for an answer.
“Because fake love, is love still.”

Someone who writes a lot of poetry. Shit or not, they're mine. I'm also a lazy ass traveler. Stick and stone may break my bones, but staircases, they get me.
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