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i wonder why movies and books and epic stories are always about people falling in love.

it seems to need no aid or inspiration.
it seems to happen
in spite of ourselves
and our best attempts at diverting
it’s hold on our hearts.

i wonder, where are the movies and books and epic stories about people falling back in love?

where are the chronicles of love after we fall into it?
where is the bible of perseverance?

where does a love go when left alone with only the memory of life shared?
as if, because it once was,
it will always be…

but even mountains change their shape.

 

“shared” is not the same
as sharing still.
to say, “look, look at all that was done in each other’s arms”
is to hold a photograph.

evidence of eaten meat does not a full belly make.

 

what eye does she hold when he looks down?
and where can he grasp if she keeps moving ‘round?
what mystery can be solved in one you know so well
and yet understand
so very
very
little?

what story can be written now?
the pages are wearing thin
and the reader grows weary
by the heaviness of words
and the absence of hope in tomorrow
and the dream that still sleeps in us today.

 

 

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