Poetry

Budding Romance

I spend nights alone. I spend days with friends, only sometimes. Days pass. Nights crawl. My hobbies lie, and parents spy. Who’s that? A face. A name. A friend. She’s cute, but no way, taken. Her name is Hope, Forsaken. I see trouble, no, prosperity from lonely. We develop, like film. Feel the screen. Hear me scream.

He’s nice, but… Nice. Nothing, nothing. Fun. Play. Here and, wait.

There I was. Here I am. In and now. Back again.

Back again. Yes. Future slaps fate, past -haps mate. We are who we are, and nothing more. Why me? How now?

I’m more than that. I’m more than fate. We are more than mistakes. We find miss plates. And life is more than love and scrapes… Rooms are a collection of our lives. Spring is inside. Sigh a relief of calm delight, and say goodnight.

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