You will never forget that first brush of love. The earnest breeze of a fresh today, as if now were magic and breathing was beyond explanation.
After which the future cannot draw from you the stream of that song, the bell of a long moan. For the days stretch on catlike and clawing. You understand that this was the beginning of the end of peace. A rip in the fabric of time.
You will never forget the sound called out by tomorrow that never takes tomorrow under consideration.
To love infinitely is a lesson beyond youth or midlife's precarious adventure. It is the last bite of all experience, the quintessential notes of poetry.
Love itself escapes all the ink fallen in the glass. You are writing a diary no one will ever read.
The red hair of yesterday changed into dusk and the sun sets in perpetuity.