I sit here alone and endlessly contemplate |
was our love just illusions of what should have been?
When it was good it was better than great
but sadly those good times came only now and then.
I ponder just how fully invested we were
in making life together match pictures in our minds.
When uproarious moments would occur
they would tug unmercifully on the tie that binds.
Love is fickle when not nourished by each,
it often turns brown and then dies there on the vine.
Lackadaisical hands that no longer reach
resemble the emptiness of a played out gold mine.
Calling it a timeout when you packed your bags,
closing the door softly as you moved on.
From that fateful moment the minute hand lags,
deafening silence confirms that you’re gone.
The length of a timeout is indeterminable it seems,
I keep listening for the whistle to blow.
Come back to me and plow ahead with our dreams,
we’re not fallow; lets reap what we sow.
Submitted for the “Broken Love” challenge
“our love just illusions of what should have been”
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