I wrote a poem recently. Not so much a poem, more like a story; a story of love, kind of like a love story. Sure, it was the best love story we've never read.
There were romances, struggles, some revelations and resurrections... even a few bruised egos. Blah, blah.
Yessir, a bayside view of false paradise if I'd ever seen one; some dogeared page ripped out of a journal written in ink and found in the gutter.
No beginning or end. Just a thought. A memoir of a fantasy that should've just been and never had to explain itself.