Time changed things. It withered them.
A rose, once beautiful, now wilted and faded.
And yet she watered it daily, drenched it in stubborn love,
With the hope that it would continue to blossom.
Still the first petals began to fall; one by one, edges curling.
He watched, realisation stinging. There was nothing he could do.
He left that rose there too long, to throw it out would be unbearable,
But to look at its lifeless state every day? That was worse.
Time changed things. It withered them.
They were beautiful, but he let them die.
I will fight for this, for I know its worth.
The war wounds that will undoubtedly be inflicted upon me,
Oh how they’ll sting, but they will heal with time.
And don’t forget, I am cloaked in armour.
Yesterday’s mistakes have taught me of its importance,
For what use is my heart if it is broken and bleeding?
Today’s battle will be tomorrow’s victory,
And the shackles of imprisonment will release me to be free.
I will fight for this, and I will win.
It’s been a while now, and my mornings haven’t been the same.
Nor have my evenings for that matter.
I have never known a world quite like this one;
A world full of laughter and music,
Of tight hugs and flickering candles.
This new place is delightful
And perhaps if I had known of its existence,
I would have left the old one sooner.
Undefined opportunities, abundant in curious lust;
under my skin, crawling with passionate exhilaration.
And just when the end seems imminent, it begins again.
Much more powerful than before, it commands attention.
Eyes closed, mouths open but unable to breathe;
a tangle of spontaneity and unanswered questions.
Unexpected moments, like shooting stars,
Beautifully striking but passing by too quickly.
We made it…
Through the blanket of darkness,
across rivers we believed ran too deep.
Where we sat drinking champagne from the bottle,
the reflection of each other in our eyes.
The taste of whispers
and midnight kisses fresh on our lips.
The words to the song that reminded me of you.
Happiness so strong it brough tears to your eyes.
We made it…
My dear, I can hardly believe it,
it looks like we made it.
It feels like a firework; starting from nothing, sizzling under the surface.
Gently at first, then bursting into a million beautiful lights.
Beginning at the core, as it always does, slowly radiating outwards until there it is.
Unable to be ignored, excitingly obvious, yet shockingly unforeseen.
Minutes dissolve into hours, then days – nothing changes in those early stages.
Eager to last, that explosive sensation; but will it? Does it ever?
Different from the others, a guilty pleasure perhaps.
Early stages. Early stages.
I wonder,
if the breeze carried you
and sent you rustling through the leaves,
would I still look up at the sound of your whisper,
gentle in the morning sun?
Or was it purely the fact that you were a tornado
that caught my attention,
as you destroyed everything in your path?