Daydreaming of You and Three Words

For some, love fades

slowly sighing an acknowledgement of defeat.

For others love is simply lost, never to return again

But then of course love can also be found; and held onto.

Sometimes love can even be found just for

One

Night.

But then of course, there is the other kind of love

the cruellest most hideous kind.

This sort almost strangles its naive victims.

This, is unrequited love.

Most love stories are written about two people who fall completely in love with one another.

But what of our stories, the stories of the ones who fall in love alone?

Innocent victims of the one sided affair.

The unloved

The walking wounded

Painfully punished because we’ve absently stumbled into being in love with someone who does not and absolutely will not love us back.

Brick by brick, we build our madhouses.

Is every word he says what’s really on his mind?

Is this what happens when the music stops?

When the last musician falters, playing flat and so horribly slow

Maybe we look for secrets in their words because we can’t believe our minds

Romance is found walking in grave yards,

it seems far too far away to ever seem tangible and palpable, and yet we crave it.

Poetry suddenly seems real, no longer an abstract thing to be scribbled by youths in lonely rooms

But it doesn’t stop, or go away,

it lingers, burns and giggles, happily warm inside.

Because we’re always hoping we’re wrong.

And every time he does something that tells you he’s no good, we ignore it.

And every time he comes through and suprises you, he wins you over, and you lose that argument with yourself, that he’s not for you.