As not in poetry, for when a romantic falls in love and it’s given back, all those wishes in yearning dreams explode at once, fallen over in dripping embers, matching beauty fireflies, symbols in poems. Romantic gestures in labouring hands, repertoires and addiction is apparent. No muse could ever possibly help detox the romantic.
Despite the cliche of meeting in
glances in the eyes and that smile
that doesn’t restrain itself. Not even a supernova could come between, no conversation of a tempting Demon could distract, not even the promise of Heaven by any Angel could tear down their connection.
Changing the ways their pray along with their very essence of existence.
Call it blasphemy if you want, not knowing God’s opinion. Exalting feelings in poetic sentiments. Marble statues raised in homage.
Romantics turned lovers.
Fate is here and never meet until now. Revelation inside and a revolution in a quiet mood. A paradox in this world. Lovers living their destiny as the rest of humanity whimper in conforming ways.