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Abstract Musing (1)




They wrote love letters like bed time stories and stacked them. 
Those stacks. Reminders to never forget.

They swam in a sea of open ended sentences. 
Sentences punctuated with her scent.

 But did she know then, that the gravity of loneliness smelled the same as well.

 Broke. They rebuilt. Broke again.
The 'lost cause' wrapped in 'remember when' and 'what could have been' ; 
all in an 'if only things were different'.

 And she's lost. Dizzy.
Lost on that less traveled road. 

 He was like a December. Serene.
He was the morning cool. 
And she no less than a fool for mistaking glass for the openness ; 
mistaking the calm for content.

 To awaken the lost, silent dreams ;
wanting to gather hope and spirit ;
those stacks found a place elsewhere ; 
those bed time stories were put to sleep. Forever. 

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