How the heart approaches what it yearns, I considered.
Or how the mind remembers what is doesn't need.
I smile at the memory of an ex's ex's ex's name.
How the heart approaches what it yearns,
Or how sometimes the heart stays still and yearns and yearns till it gnaws into your ribcage and you feel every pulse and every whimper and every sigh of that very sad organ.
How it sometimes falls in love with no regard to where you are in life
with no real regard to how you feel, the bastard, your heart, just falls in love.
As if it never belonged to me, as if it belonged wholly to you, it just goes and falls in love like every dawn and dusk belonged, in fact, to it.