too much words,
too much noise,
too much worries,
all for "boys."

he got me
to fall really hard,
really low,
high above that
endless and stairless
ground.

he ended up in
my torny arms,
we started up happy,
but, ended with miseries.

she gave everything up,
he said he did too.
she gave him her everything,
he said he did too.

she doesn't know
how to go back to
the old peers
she trashed,
but he knows.

she doesn't know
how to bring herself up,
yet he does.

love's aesthetics
were limitless and
critiques weren't
necessarily true.

love's sheet music
were boundless
yet seemingly mute
when he's not there.

love's l'artiste
were rainbow-filled,
splattered with
non-mundane colors,
but imaginatively
gloomy when's he's lost.

she said,
"isn't it when you're found,
you were lost?
isn't it when you're remembered,
you were forgotten?
isn't it when you've won,
i have lost?
this game we used to play,
this piece we used to make,
this portrait we used to paint,
and this love we used to take.
our love's sickness,
this tell-tale story of ours
that began last summer,
and ended that forever."