this is a poem of treasured nostalgia;
when Fate wrote what we were supposed to be,
there was rain pouring down hard
two young souls slow dancing in the dark,
his eyes was a mesmerizing art,
his arms were my home, his hand was my guide,
gently tugging me along with my heart
held upon by his other hand,
I held on tightly, enthralled
and yet I breathe exhausted.
I could only last for so long until I ask for my heart back,
all the love for myself drains, running my soul into a drag race
"Where are we heading?" I asked, we're all heading to finish line
"What then if we do?" I asked, and I answered before he could,
we both loved, both break, both hurt, and both end by then,
the scenery blurs,
the time slows down
my breathing begins to even,
our hands so tightly clasped loosened,
I took my heart with grief, anxiety, and fear
even before I could know what the finish line could be.

IA