She was like art in a museum;
so beautiful to look at,
but you could never get close enough to touch
too fragile...

Maybe some people aren’t destined to find love
no matter how many times you knock the door, the House remains abandoned and nothing ever fills your chest,
at some point, your ribs cave in and you suffocate on your own blood
A tragic death
Maybe no matter how many times you sell your body, hoping someone will make love to your remains, it is still never enough
Maybe the conversations filled with laughter and dreams, remain just that; empty echoes of a forever lost in space & time
Maybe no matter how many people wrap their arms around you, you’re still fragile, you’re still a feather floating along the wind hoping someone would turn you to something more;
Something meaningful.
Maybe no matter how many times you cross paths, you’ll always remain strangers, meeting through parallel universes and it’s always the wrong time or the wrong place or the wrong something but never the right anything
Maybe some people aren’t destined to find love
To be love
To be in love
To feel love
They’re destined to drown in love
To suffer in love
To love but not be loved
To die of love because no one was capable of holding such vast amounts of love
Maybe some people are lonely
Maybe it’s me.
It’s always been me.

September's child is special
born in autumn's gold;
brother to the pumpkin
sister to the cold.

September's child is lovely
the heart's in the right place;
born in the changing leaves
adorned with God's own grace.

September's child is full of love
for family and for friends;
granting each an honored spot
with love that never ends.

September's child is filled with life
for enjoying nature's touch;
relishing the autumn rains
not too little, nor too much.

September's child is special
between the heat and cold;
graced with special beauty
graced by autumn's gold.