Does Love End?

love doesn´t die from a gunshot,

doesn´t scream,

doesn´t cry

doesn´t jump out the window

like in those damn movies.

no.

love fades like a forgotten cigarette,

dries up like warm beer in the sun,

turn into routine,

the same damn smell,

words that no longer rattle your chest.

it´s not that one day you wake up and

stop loving her,

it´s that you realize

you no longer care if she comes or not,

if she laughs or cries,

if she dreams of you or someone else.

love, my friend,

get tired.

it rips in awkward silences,

in the "are you okey?" that sounds like

paperwork,

in hands that touch

but don´t feel.

it´s not about cheating

or another bed,

sometimes you just

get fed up.

like the same plate,

the same bar,

the same damn mirror every morning.

and then

it´s no longer love

it´s nostalgia.

it´s attachment.

it´s fear of starting over.

love doesn´t die,

it falls apart,

and you just

get used to

the dust.