To comfort me

I tell myself it was not meant to be
When words were what really wrecked me
There’s a certain comfort in trying to believe
In a higher power’s prophesy

But the words I tell myself at night
are not the same as my heart’s plea
I keep hoping lightning would strike
in the same place for you and me

If the clock would only tick backwards
and give a different ending to the story
Then I’d swear of all the several way I could have loved you
If only you would let me

But maybe…
Conceivably,
there is no “we”
Perhaps,
Perchance,
We were not meant to be.

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