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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