maybe, like writing in sand-
our feelings may wash away in
intermittent rain and satiated tide
filled with rough seashell and friendly fish.
maybe, in the nights
where the moon is hidden-
we simply close our eyes to the light
and lie to our incoherent minds
that we were deserted,
and no longer loved
merely to gain some sort of
melancholic self pity.
maybe, our senses
are blind to the most obvious,
to the situations which love us
and people who leave us.