We keep forcing pieces that refuse to fit,
chasing a *"could be"* that was never a *"would be."*
Hope becomes a ritual—
lighting candles for a love
the universe never blessed.
And isn't that the cruelest joke?
We collided like planets
orbiting different suns.
I loved you against logic,
waded into depths
I was never meant to survive.
Now the answer sits between us—
not wrong, not right,
just *impossible.*