It's not you, it's me

and this isn't cliche.
I repeated those words through
holes between sleep and
that (in and out of) dream state
that we pretended to live in.
We were shooting for the stars,
hoping the tiny pieces would fall
on our tongues and melt, or trap those
far and few moments of bliss.
You said that love was a
thought process for fools and
dinosaurs. I never really knew
what that meant, but I tried
to imagine that it was romantic
and clever.