Where does love go?
Does it fly away from us?
On small, crumpled paper airplanes,
Made from forgotten love letters?
Or maybe it sails,
Carelessly floating away from us.
So slowly, we may not realize.
Does love run?
Can it run to you like I did,
or away from you like I would?
Does it run
or does love look back?
Does love realize a good thing
when it’s there?
Your love has taken off.
It’s off in a dead sprint
To whatever home it can find.