The space between what dreams men give us and what they actually do, when they run the other way scared with no explanation
Is the measure of their power
Or rather
The ghost of power
Like the height of the rows of the colosseum
After centuries of plumagging
The measurements only architects can estimate
In memories we can still hear echoes of battles
Wounded men fighting for a lie
The lie of honor
The ghosts of the past ways of men stand that way
And I think this every time he doesn’t call
The lingering bittersweet of a time of gallantry and romance I recall as I pause one more time before I erase another faceless contact
An era whose time is come to pass
That I might visit only through nostalgia, like the vintage movies we’ll always have paris
I think about how I chose this present
To be without you at the cost of that beauty
How much this is necessary and worth it
And I think about all the women in the world choosing themselves first and walking away turning away from abuse and shame
Closing that chapter one turn of the page at a time
We gave up romance for what? For each other for the world for the worlds inside for the rare earth gold only women can touch
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