Love cannot exist without selfishness.
They coincide, by hungrily feeding
On one another's utter emptiness.
Underneath the duress, love conceding.
So begs the question, is love existent?
Or simply a concept, imagined by
Needy humans who yearn for a constant?
A sanctuary in which we can lie?
Maybe love was forgotten, left behind
Beneath the rubble of our broken hearts.
Maybe love finally gave in, resigned,
Only to be found amongst the lost arts.
But maybe love's spark still exists, aflame,
In those who refuse to remain the same.
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