what is the space between something that could be love,
isn’t love, the word for it, something that is just your own mind
playing a trick, telling you that yes, you are, for want of a better word,
falling, body tumbling down the very steps to your Technicolor dream,
where, in reality, the world turns a shade of beige, bruises erupting
like little violet volcanoes, and you realise it was all a vision,
your interpretation of what you so desperately believed to need,
but on it goes, your staggered fantasy, your ingredients for love
but there is no word for it, love that isn’t love but you feel it so,
like a hard squeeze in the chest, that elusive, addictive make-believe.
Written: October 2019.
Explanation: A simple poem written in my own time, having watched the first few episodes of the mini-series adaptation of John Green's 'Looking for Alaska.' There may be a few poems inspired by the series and book, especially as the latter means a great deal to me.
As I am working ******* my university manuscript, there will be few poems until the start of next year. Nevertheless, feedback is welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.