I want to go home.
Not to the home I know now
but to the home I used to know,
I sit at home and I long for it.

For my naivety,
for my happiness,
for the memories that will
pale all others,

for the people who will never be young
again
and the ones that will never be alive
again.

I miss how bad I had it
and not even knowing
or caring
because I was happy.

I know now
and it hurts.
I want to go home
even when I am home.

Matter can not be created nor destroyed.
Is it the same with love? I wonder.
Perhaps just our love.

One does not create it,
rather falls into it,
proving it's existence.

Love is never lost,
changed only.

It is a chemical reaction,
serotonin
and oxytocin.

The dynamics of our love have shifted.
Once drowning in a volatile sea,
I was obsessed.

Then lying on a dry cracked bed
just as damaging.
Where did the love go?

Into you.
Osmosis of love
through parted lips,
gyrating hips.