The storybook reads it's the end,
but the only worry you feel,
is that pretend may just be real.
I close my eyes once a day,
to think of the events that did unfold,
seems we would be untold if only feet away.
Goals don't carry time at all.
The future and the the outcomes, I find scary.
That's why I don't mark calanders, I mark the wall.
Love is something many can find,
but time shows its better,
when you nor your love even knows.
Of the feeling hurt, I've been a guest.
Can make the best memories, seem the worst,
but that's no reason to steal the love that came first.
Some just need to find the start of their way.
In the gust of wind anything may free your mind,
for me it must be when I left the door of a play.