If we could believe in the madness of our shared pasts,
Do you think we stand a chance
At living it again someday?
There is an indescribable and sometimes,
An invisible sense of abandonment in security.
A sense of loss and detachment in a bond
That promised to keep you close, no matter what.
A point is reached
When you begin to doubt.
Could love,
In all it’s contrasts and similarities, last?
Things are lost.
Lost and found, occasionally.
But lost forever for most part.
Most of all, love.
Starfishes,
Seashells,
Tides,
Full moons,
Love and castles of yellow grit.
Nothing ever made sense.
And most of all, love.
Was it the same for you as well?
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