Loving you is like running laps in gym,
those laps that weren't quite oval
because all you did was run
the outline of the basketball court.
It never felt right, running that way.
I can't continue to love you like this.
Running shouldn't be four right turns.
Loving shouldn't be tugs and pinches,
half truths, muttered promises
not really but kind of meant.
We've almost got it right,
almost smoothed it out,
turned into a race track.
It's not happening fast enough.

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