In the grand theatre of our romance,
In this courtship of our growing love
—only your parents could judge me.

In the grand theatre of our romance,
When I unveil my authentic essence
—your weeping eyes continue to love me.

In the grand theatre of our romance,
To say you're the woman of my dreams
—there’s no rest to provide you with the
justifications to profess your love for me!

Love isn’t a romantic movie…

But is dying merely a rebirth within the echoes
Of another's memory, in another's mind
Forever lingering in another’s heart –
Being this forever last touch?

Death, is far from silent, loudly resonating
Within the echoing tears of the living,
Not so cold; those cherished memories
Of you, ignites smiles that envelop us in warmth.

Though, as much as we know you now
We realize we never truly knew you at all!
Even in death, the narrative of your once
Existence, is living in another’s memories –
As a depth far beyond what we could even hold.

With a heavy heart, I exhaled a breath of longing beneath
my silent prayer – perhaps too overoptimistic. Gazing outwards,
I found myself swallowed by the paranoia of my own existence,
and chewed out by the tumultuous journey of time's relentless
exploration.

I held my reflection in a broken piece of glass; staring as the
curious, frigid gaze of a child peering into the depths of your
soul – my inner child gazed back, steeped in wistful nostalgia.

My rich brown skin, reminiscent of freshly tilled soil; labouring
through the toil while tears nourish this earth, as umbrellas lie
forgotten. Steamed by the essence of love, my surroundings
dissipate – my very bones crafted out like fragile paper, and
inscribed with the genetic legacy that tells of my human nature.

Where dreams should stand still; passionately lamenting until
they become a reservoir of still rain – the passage of time pales
in comparison to the pacing of this life. Yet, for the sake of my
aspirations, and having a hand in creating my dreams, I hope
to grasp them all one day.

If Truth & Love are an object; I’m objective to that statement;
For the girl of my dreams — I’m maybe lucid dreaming,
Or just another hopeless insomniac; a hopeless romantic!

Dreamt up love stories – mostly are their unhappy endings;
Falling in love, while quietly hoping my feelings aren’t,
The only ones to catch me; it’s all going to be so tragic!

Falling too hard now — having no means to get up;
Having no pieces of a heart left, to cope with the feeling,
Of breaking up; knowing I’ll start to act so dramatic!

These are the insecurities of being in love;
It's so rough; the one I once loved became so traumatic!

Before there was EVERYTHING
–there was NOTHING

A quiet void of endless,
POTENTIAL

And in that nothing,
–there was CHAOS

If God isn't your EVERYTHING
–then you are left with NOTHING

And to exist in such a state,
is to dwell in CHAOS!

I may be patient, but nothing close to love sick –
Mind my twisted thoughts, to the twist of my hand;
The handy character, still carrying their tender wrist –

My heart beats true, to the beat of being so tender –
But it’s so hard, learning to love those I long to hate,
And I always ask myself, “can I really do all of this”

Yet, I don’t expect the purest of love from a heart –
A wicked place; a hollow that can pompously say,
“I love you,” with deceitful lips.

Actions speak louder than words; as your actions
All carry their own intentions, that you choose not
To whisper them all – only the heart knows!