"analyzing" poems
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...
*that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows the when and why of differing
cuddling styles...
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows when to leave a man alone
alone in his man-mourning time,
distance needed,
letting his ex-rage dissipate or
watching his red and blue football
redefine ignominy...
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when the man low whistles, eyes adrift,
she heartily agrees and is
reciprocity rewarded regularly
with hunk alerts of
"hey-check-him-out!"
that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
a tigress in the bedroom
she asking, try this, I'll love it,
served with a desert demo of awkward afterward,
his less-than-perfect cuddling abilities
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who doesn't abhor partner silences,
comforting they are, in their own ways,
lying side by side, interrupted only by peccadillo body noises unexpected and
sheepish apologies and loving arm stroking
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who lets the man roar, top of voice,
when imprisoned in car,
his voice, un enfant terrible,
performs with Creedence Clearwater
a sing-a-long in traffic, asking
"Have you ever seen the rain"
while amidst Israel-leaving-Egypt
Sunday beach traffic on the L.I.E.
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
when it's pheromones alternative mode day,
he celebrates Carole King day,
she demonstrates her cuddling abilities,
par excellence, with kisses and tissues
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...
a woman, plain confident in her abilities
no matter the situational status,
when confronted by
less-than-crazy-impetuous,
she smiling says "why not,"
when he proposes,
a movie and dinner in a fav haunt?
"plenty excellent enough" her answer,
spoke in a rising voice
full of unfeigned delight
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
accepting the unexpected airport embrace
on a moving sidewalk, unexpected delays
with the aplomb of a well lived life's
long term sustainability perspective
when he kisses her hand for no reason,
while driving 75 miles per hour,
she only winces internally,
the other hand vise-grasping
the other door's handle,
who brushes hair wisps in a dark movie,
celebrating her Bathsheba Everdeen's
duality of strength and tenderness
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when on second date he proposes
a non-exclusive relationship,
confident enough to high-five respond,
and laugh about it,
seven years on
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when she reads it,
analyzing the oeuvre as
"too **** personal and
as usual
too **** long"*
that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her
cuddling abilities
in everything...
even a little occasional criticism
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
3153 miles away I lay with a mind that's clouded with thoughts. Past Scenarios playing out differently. Over analyzing the present. Anticipating the emotion that I will feel in the future. If ever I was consumed it has never been like this. Regret comes and fades. optimism shares that same cycle. Happiness And sadness come in doses like sedatives. The voice of jealousy tells me that hope makes me weak. Anger fuels my fire and logic keeps it burning. Yet voices, Medication, and the embers fade. The constant variables are only wondering and anxiety. Peace comes in sleep and yet its hardly enjoyed.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 2:51 PM UTC
Ode to a Sunflower
I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light.
I was walking alone in desolation when I encountered the blinding sight of my sunflower. There it was staring at me with its inviting eyes, eyes which seemed a little lost, a little troubled, a little like mine. My hand trembled as it wiped the disbelief from my vision. The seeds which I had planted in an attempt to dispel my restless woes had sprout up in a seemingly un-fertile place, a place where I could not fathom I would find my Sunflower. But there it was in all its beauty: eloquent, mysterious and enchanting. A vivid portrait of heavenly grace. all could witness , yet, one could possess.
I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light.
From the moment I found my sunflower I did my best to nurture it, watering its spirit from sunrise to sunset. The beauty for which it possessed was captivating; stirring my very being like no other flower has prior. I spent days, months and years analyzing this gem. I wondered why this sunflower was so singular in its splendor, why after so long in my possession was it still shining brighter than a summer star painted against a black night. My admiration and love for this sunflower matured uncontrollably, cultivating in a whirlwind of blissful sunshine.
I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light.
Though my sunflower possesses the strength of a thousand armies and the magnificence of a thousand smiles, I sense a feeling of weakness when the wicked birds of prey attempt to uproot it from its rightful plot. I caress its pedals and speak to it softly assuring that there is a purpose for the gloom, and that upon all of us the rain of opposition will fall. I clutch its head into mine as splendid pedals of fluorescent beauty tickle my face, making me blush with joy. I whisper to my sunflower as I drop my seed next to her stalk, and I tell it that no matter what storms may sing, there will be no challenge to our garden as long as we continue to grow together.
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 12:43 AM UTC
I swear
somebody is following my inner footprint
recording and analyzing
hemming and coughing and clearing their throat
assessing my
"situation"
Stalking stalking stalking me
and filling my fortune cookies with relevant words
to psyche me out
i swear
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 2:57 AM UTC
We all bear scars in one way or other.
Some from loving someone too deeply and some others from losing someone or something that you cared too much for.
Some scars are intentional while some others exist for stupid silly reasons.
Some we are but some we are not so proud of.
I have scars all over my body.
All over my mind and all over my soul.
I have scars on my brain due to over thinking and over analyzing incidents that haven’t even happened yet.
I have scars on my eyes for shutting it more often, for being blind to things that should’ve been taken care of.
I have scars on my nose from all those endless snobs and sniffles from my horrifying past relationships.
I have scars on my mouth from speaking the truth, only the truth and nothing but the truth.
I have scars on my neck from getting choked up on false love and fake proposals.
I have scars on my shoulders from lifting up responsibilities that I was accustomed to from an early age.
I have scars on my hands from holding onto things that weren’t supposed to be mine from the very start.
I have scars on my chest from my ice cold heart that has been stomped over and over multiple times.
I have scars on my lungs from the “occasional” stress buster cigarettes that I am addicted to every now and then.
I have scars on my stomach from one too many butterflies that flew when we first met.
I have scars on my legs from running, miles away from people and that place I used to call home.
I have scars on my skin from the many tattoos I got done that helps me reassure my self-worth.
I have scars on my soul from trying hard to pull myself together, calm me down and compose myself through the rampant storm that’s been raging in my life.
I have all these scars. All of them.
And they don’t scare me now even though they hurt like hell, at times.
They’ve become a part of me and looking back, they are just reminders of who I was, what I have been through my life and the person it has made me become.
They don’t scare me anymore because they define who I am now.
A survivor.
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 2:04 AM UTC
Self-esteem forms a comparison,
One that is typically a brutal report.
Giving yourself a low grade,
A rating which crushes confidence.
Analyzing tracts through superficiality,
Viewing self from a blurry lens.
Seeing ugliness when beauty shines likes a princess,
Detecting stupidity when the mind is as sharp as a knife.
The flaws you catch in the mirror are false deception,
Witnessing myths of your imagination.
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 7:02 AM UTC
coffee breath,
9:42,
violet pigment under eyes,
tiresome sighs.
three hours and forty- one minutes of sleep,
my mind says no,no,no,no
my eyes are heavy
and so is my mood
heart sunken deep as eye bags
wondering if you actually care.
those blue-green eyes,
are they analyzing my feelings,
or algebra?
i just want you to feel the same way,
which is a way i have never felt before
mushy, gushy, stupid poems,
hopeless, delicate Juliet searching for Romeo in her peripherals
little Juliet, wake up, wake up,
go be the lioness you're accustomed to be
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
Don't make it awkward
Don't make it awkward
Just don't make it awkward.
My mantra
I ponder my texts
Analyze the details
bang my head against the wall
If you're not awkward
he wont be.
right?
right?
****
...
...
it's awkward.
You're over analyzing
Too much thinking
Stop thinking
thwap
Head hits the desk.
I'm awkward.
Everything's normal
One night of choosing to not
won't ruin a friendship
right?
right?
It's not awkward.
Why won't he text me.
Don't be such a girl.
I am a girl.
****
I'm an awkward girl.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
In statistics we learn that certain events
have undeniable independence,
which allows us to predict the success or failure
under certain circumstances
and I couldn't help but catch myself wondering
what the probability was that an attempt at taking my life might have
and I considered calculating the chance of success,
part of me hoping that parameter exceeded its counter part
while the other part silently prayed and dearly hoped
that the chance of failure knocked success out of the picture.
But these are independent events
and even after analyzing past trials
the only way to know for certain
would to be to carry it out myself.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
no one takes you seriously anymore.
you're just a college student.
you are still young.
you are still learning.
you have not been fully brainwashed,
yet.
you have to get a good job!
you have to make enough money!
you don't want to be starving, do you?
then go to college.
go to college
cause that will fix all your problems.
one piece of paper and
200,000 dollars of debt later.
welcome to college.
welcome to college!
where you'll try hard to get good grades
and be up all night.
you will never know a good night's rest
for the next 4 years.
more anxiety than high school.
more work than high school.
more people than high school.
more bull **** than high school.
liberal arts education is supposed to be great!
but what if you hate science and math
and you just want to write?
I hate my classes.
I hate analyzing books.
I hate analyzing movies.
I hate writing essays.
I hate talking.
I have a C+ in one class
because I never talk.
I hate talking.
I hate talking.
when I get my degree will it be different?
will I be different?
will my life change forever?
will I finally be the member of society
that society wants me to be?
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
Is it sugar*
Or is it death* dirt* or nothing.
I think about it looking into my tea cup.
Just an idea in my head.
My over thinking, over analyzing mind*
I think I am fat.
I hate being fat.
Then I see an amazing fat girl looking good in her jeans.
Her overthrow looks amazing and I want that*
I want to be fat.
I could be small.
I tell my self.
I should eat way less and get skinny.
Fit in very tight jeans and have big hair.
The skinny girl yesterday looked amazing.
But would I*
What if I cannot look good skinny.
I'd loose my **** and look weird.
What if I am those people who can never get small*
I love food and good places.
Most of the times fat girls look awesome dressed up.
I am not skinny or fat.
I have never understood my body.
Sometimes I feel smart sometimes I doubt everything*
So, is it sugar? Is it dirt?
maybe I will never know*
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 3:42 AM UTC
I,
Am a teenaged girl
Lost between the deminsions of
Fantasy
And
Reality.
I am a Filipino and Mexican
Knowing no spanish
Lost in a language my mother has forgotten.
I am what it means to be a human being.
Trying my best to be there
Making zillions of mistakes that end up drowning me in the end.
Wanting to remember but always forgetting
Wanting to help but saying the wrong things at the wrong time.
Trying to find a place in the world
Only to end up being isolated like a lone wolf.
I am what it means to be a student,
Not loving the whole school system but trying her best to prove it wrong.
Educated by watching the world, day by day,
Philosophizing life
Analyzing the story lines that mean something
Surviving in a jungle we call High School
And day by day,
Struggling in classes just to pass it.
I am, what it means to be
not so smart, not stupid at all but
a hard worker, learning everything I can with the little time the school system provides.
So,
Who am I?
Well for starters,
To tell you who I am,
I'd have to spend the majoirty of my life writing a one hundred paged book,
With only one page that has one sentence of writing that says,
"Too much to say, ask me another day."
Who I am,
Is a teenaged-Filipina-Latina-video gaming-anime loving-poetry/story writing-girl
Who is always lost in her own world~
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 4:18 AM UTC
1. My mind is a 20/20 vision pair of eyes.
I can see the specks
and seeds of irritation before they grow.
Plants,
They were never really good for these eyes.
2. Let's go to the moon.
And I assure you,
While you sink your feet in moon dust
And swim in empty craters,
While I worry about how dark it is out here,
I get to enjoy the simultaneous twinkle of the stars.
3. And because I'm paying too much attention,
I might even get to see one fly.
4. You're thinking about how delicious this lunch is.
I'm counting calories.
5. So,
what's for dinner?
6. Hey, if she is
Indeed
Stabbing my back
With word weapons,
My 561-letter comeback speech
Is always ready
in the front pocket
Of my school bag.
7. Its always just a headache,
Never brain cancer.
8. I love the newly opened eyelids,
In the mornings,
My first breath is a sigh of relief,
Yes.
I didn't die in my sleep.
9. She's got a great body.
Her bones read,
No food and a ton of gym time,
I'm sure it's to make you smile.
And I hate to brag,
But I'm mentally fit.
I get to exercise
Analyzing every single detail
Of the twinkle in your eye
Of the flick of your lips
Of the depth of that frown
When you said
you were leaving.
10. I think I've figured out why.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
I live in my head
I have my own room there
My own bed
Where I do my best thinking
Where I am most comfortable
It keeps me up most nights
Making to do lists and analyzing
conversations from days before
Daydreaming about everything
Some of the thoughts I have
are down right crazy
So crazy that it must not be me
there must be other people up there
and hell not just a room but a whole house
with several rooms and several conversations
I can envision it clearly
Sometimes I stay there for days
The lights are on
My shades are open
But no ones home
I do return to the real world and have
real conversations but seems like I
Always return to my head
Where I live
In my own room and my own bed
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 7:50 PM UTC
Take me as I am, please
No. Please is too understanding
Take me as I am!
Wait. Maybe that's too demanding?
I don't think we understand each other
Maybe we're over analyzing
It's just that when I look into your eyes I stop
They're hypnotizing
Stop. No. Rewind please!
But I can't, the words are out
Could you give me a backspace button for conversation
That would relieve some doubt
I want you
Argh! Too lustful!
I need you!
ACK! Too needy!
Let's just say the world's a candy jar
And for your jolly rancher I'm greedy?
No? Not subtle? Too subtle? Argh!
Why is it so complicated to speak to you!?!
I'm like a 3 year old whose trying to make a picture out of glitter and glue
And the supplies just keep sticking!
Do you understand what I mean?
I see the perplexed look on your face and...
**** it, woman, you're pretty
Ack! Rewind rewind rewind!
Stupid stupid stupid!
The only way to catch an arrow is to say you DON'T want Cupid
So I don't want you....yes I do.
No I don't!
But I do!
No I don't!
Yes I do!
NO! I! DON'T!
Look at her!!!
....okay, I do.
But you wouldn't give me a second thought if I told that to you
I mean let's face it, you're so out of my league that we're not even in the same sport
I'm playing with the tiny tikes and you're in the pro team's court
But I would be a fool if this wall was all I feel on my fingers
And as perverted as that sounds I let the joke just linger
Because you're beautiful and I'm me
And who am I to attain a girl like you
The boy whose glasses fall down his nose and is missing one or two screws
I just want a dance... and a kiss.... okay, just a dance
No, what I want from you is the guarantee of a second, maybe third glance
To see you in the hallways tomorrow and know I make you smile
To know that you affirm we danced and liked it all the while
I want to be more than wallflower material and I want the prime
So with shaky legs, a corny disco ball, and a bad song, I stand and I greet you
And ask could this dance be mine....?
Your move. Gulp.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 9:58 PM UTC
I am
tired of not being respected,
tired of being taken advantage of,
tired of being told what to do,
tired of being accused,
tired of always being wrong,
tired of silent conversations for hours on end,
tired of wondering why i’m not good enough,
tired of apologizing for things that aren’t my fault,
tired of your twisting of words,
tired of your apathy,
tired of your ruthless blunt comments,
tired of missing your hot touch on my bare skin,
tired of wishing you cared,
tired of trying so hard for someone who doesn’t give a **** in return,
tired of analyzing my every move for your “peace of mind”,
tired of jumping through hoops to impress you only to realize you arent at the show,
tired of being on the brink of saying goodbye only for you to win me right back with one of your dazzling smiles and gentle hugs,
tired of being spoken down to,
tired of feeling small,
tired of hiding parts of me that are too loud for you,
tired of frowning when i could be smiling,
tired of sobbing when could be laughing,
tired of hating myself when i could be loving myself.
i’m so **** tired.
i’m so god **** tired.
tired of being tired.
Nov 12, 2020
Nov 12, 2020 at 2:46 PM UTC
banana skin salad in
artificial lemonade
peacocks salivating
mushy rooms belly aching
Oreos are okie dokie
ocean breezes open up me
analyzing any eyes
evaluating coffee grinds
a manifesting apple in me
apple in the Snapple leaking
sticky salamander fingers
static on a broken speaker
attics over broken theaters
salmon eating taco teachers
teaching choco taco preachers
preaching at Chicago creatures
opal rings and oval things
are focusing on yodeling
a social need for opening
in total global offerings
and in a soup or telephonic
happiness in playing sonic
gently speaking thick Ebonics
sickly tonic
Let's be honest, boys
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
people watching in a coffee shop
is one of the simple pleasures in life
the bizarre satisfaction you get
when you sit by the window
solving crossword puzzles
or probably sipping your cup of hot latte
immediately tilting your head up
when someone enters
analyzing, wondering,
as they pass by your table
what kind of person they are?
what coffee do they drink?
what do they do in the coffee shop?
where were they from?
who are they with?
thoughts by thoughts
questions by questions
curiosity kicks in
eventually clouding your mind
as you nibble your chapped lip
finally finding a solution
to the crosswords
also your futile thoughts
without hesitation
you give those people in the shop
every single one of them
a life
based on their coffee
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
My Lucifer, unwitting Muse, dog-eared Vonnegut,
afrobeatnik third eye, howls escaping
from your headphones, wailing about secrets, about infidelity,
about analyzing life until there ain’t nothin’
left. Then you shuffle by in your black and white Adidas,
hair in twists, wearing the striped sweater
of nihilistic intent, quoting the rants of Holden Caulfield
in your blog like you never didn’t know him.
I never asked to know you, to want who I can’t have
when I can’t even love myself. And every fiber
Of my being yearns for reciprocation. What is there
to return? What is there to feel, you meditate on truth,
fallen angel in the parlor of rebellion, blasphemous goodbye,
bright and morning star simpering like crickets in the palms
of daybreak. Your musicality radiates from subway chatter
and overheard profanity down El Camino Real.
I take in your ballad at my post office mailbox,
in the abandoned echoes of daydream monologues.
You’re a philosopher, exploring theory of mind, a cartographer,
mapping the labyrinth of your deepest desires.
Tell me again about desires, demonstrations of divine sadism. Tell me
about human empathy, the animated faces of wordless expression,
the metaphysics of free will, my beginning and my end,
alpha and omega, my fortress in the land of chic.
Blasphemous hustler, let your idealism simmer, your wit, your mojo,
I come to you an amateur, a neophyte, a lowly scab
in the strike against ignorance. Give me my melody, my song,
my one-hit-wonder of all that is cliché and unknown.
But I can’t be the other woman, your girlfriend, your aspiring
Playboy bunny only 10-bucks-a-throw. Your highness-who-yells-
his-ideas-into-the-ears-of-echoes, your every quirk spellbinds me.
Each day I wake to your entourage vibrato.
I am held captive by your brooding stare, empress of liberal
doves. You visit in my dreams when the sky is a force of darkness
viewing light through peepholes, your flaws an aphrodisiac, a love drug,
a fast hit in the basement from the ecstasy of words.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 5:37 AM UTC
I need you.
These words are true,
but it's hard for me to put them in a sentence.
I can't say them out loud because that would mean that I depend on you.
I want to get to know you.
But I forget that I can't get close to someone who's never there.
I wish I could go to ball games with you.
I wish I could have looked out into the audience in the middle
of a recital and see your face in the crowd.
I wish I could see the same look on your face that they do.
You always look so proud when you talk to them, talk about them
and even when you look at them.
Especially when you talk about the one that got away.
You praise her. Even after everything that's happened you're still proud of her.
I wish I had that.
I wish I could see that radiating smile of yours and know that it's for me too.
For something that I've done that you were so unbelievably proud of.
I know I'm not yours, not really.
I know that you're trying your best. I understand that it's not easy with three kids in the house.
I also know that it's harder because I'm older than she was when you first got her,
and I'm older than the kids are now.
I try to make you proud, I really do.
I study for every test and hand in every homework assignment.
I await the scores so I can run home and tell you what they are.
After telling you the news you always have the same stern look on your face.
I feel as if I'm never good enough.
I even got a job and am trying to learn the value of money.
I try to be smart. Sometimes you say I'm not,
and just to prove you wrong I try to impress you by telling you useless facts.
But it still doesn't seem to be good enough.
Is it because I'm too boring, too loud, too girly, too lazy, or because I spend too much time on tumblr?
Is it because I don't look like the rest of you?
Is it because... I'm nothing like she was?
I know that she was your baby girl.
I know that you'll always hold a special place for her in your heart.
But I was second. Doesn't that count for something?
Maybe you actually are proud of me.
Maybe I'm just over analyzing this like I do everything else.
Maybe...
Just maybe.
But I've still never seen it.
I've never seen that radiating smile that they've all seen...
Oh how I'd **** to see it.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 7:42 PM UTC
A calamity of views abused
When the alcohol is strong
The choices go wrong
Everyones offend through Misinterpreted temptation
Using my over analyzing brain to calm the degraded
Crying over a mundane sane
Looking for persuasion
Through persecution
Picking out your weaknesses
Bleakness, is a majestic trait
Not intentionally
Burdening their agony
My name is animosity
I depict a character that sympathizes
Your alibies
Using my vulnerability
Contaminated humility
Finding
The hiding
No problem suggesting
My dark secrets of the night
Applying my skits that fit right
Paranoid to be viewed in a mortifying light
I would be lying denying my animalistic ride
I have scrutinized
Remorsing
I see earth born
Godly you stand
In the morning
Behold deformities
You fit the norm
I bow to your Godly proportion
In vein this I pray
Amen
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
Walking thousands of steps
Measuring footprints left behind
Stumbling blocks
Analyzing
Walking through slippery roads
Dead ends
Ascending mountains
Descending
Facing ephemeral seasons
Running away
Chasing
The wind
The worst of all facing storms
a hurricane
mind-like-storm
Through the journey
Remember that no waves can ever drown you
Find rest in the secret place, Embrace.
Copyright© Cynthia Ulloa
All rights reserved.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 4:33 AM UTC
It is a terrible thing this flesh that wears us
Being makes us
Slaves to atomic thought
Particles possessing some consciousness
Dreams stream from the undermind
To undermine
All we thought we were
From the sub-atomic to the atomic
On into the protein patterns of our thoughts
Neurotransmitters flood and fulminate
Filling our minds with strange things
Receptor receiving impressions
Leave strangers believing instincts
Animals evolved to understand but ignore
The gifts we have acquired from millions years and more
A talent for analyzing then adjusting ourselves
And after the fact constructing a model
That makes continuity out of all of the chaos
Now most take it for granted
Become carbon copies cut in granite
They give in to the impulses
And waste said potential on fulfilling the illusion
The desire to be grander is subsumed
By their fear of non-existence
Which is what they become
Not after death
But as cogs in the machine
In a factory of robotic human beings
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
Empty walls and conversations with myself
Analyzing memories of tea stains on my denim shirt.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
dust begins to collect
frequent cleanings are nothing but memories of the past
your possessions remain
relics of what once existed
what happened to
the unbreakable bond
your endless creativity
my deceitful beauty
how can such things deteriorate so quickly
and now we sit
legs crossed
naked
in so many forms
clinging on to the past
analyzing all uncertainties
wondering of the true capability
of change
of resolution
of depth
the way things were
reminiscing
infinite romance
joyous love
unscathed hope
we are the storm
and now we find ourselves
right where we started
longing for love
lusting for something lasting
neither of which led us here
we both know
it will never
it can never
the bond
irreversible
unstoppable
one question lingers
as it always has
for days
for weeks
for years
decades slip by so quickly
one thing is for certain
nothing lasts forever
but
nothing ever fades
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC