Halfway towards Another Hedonistic Paradox

In a room without strings
fueled by procrastination only
the expired insecurities of youth
deprived of the latest kind of attachment device
ever invented
to remind humankind of their own signatures
on the dotted old line.
With age, one finds out
there are worse wars around the corner than they used to learn about;
First-hand experience becomes common knowledge
in a bit of a precious second,
while we are still alive
but still unable to figure out why
we are supposed to live only one love at a time,
and destined
to gently send our illegitimate soul mates into exile
how come
I am missing the dismissed only,
And solely remember the banished
in the supposedly forgotten corner of my mind?

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