The problem with love is that it’s as painful to lose
as it is beautiful to hold.
I was the eye of a needle in the eye of a storm;
Everything calm and clear where we stood under parity
Oblivious to my distant surroundings
And obsessed with the clarity.
Fresh air never smelt so good.
I knew they never truly felt I could survive but I could.
Now everything’s clear
And I am, this time, prepared;
My glass is half full but I’ll be careful not to spill my thoughts again.
My farcical haul through rugged-rough storms
And trivial pain
Has come to an unexpected but welcomed end.