Innocence is a thing best forgotten
A line crossed uncrossable
The screwy warmth of limerence
The joyful ignorance of unwarranted sanguinity
Love used to be a healthy feeling
A catalyst for action
The be all to end all
But too many nights sitting up in the dark
Too many days waiting by the window
Wear thin on thin hopes
And turn pilots into poets
The only real pain is not in unrequited love
but unfulfilled potential
What might have been said
But wasn't
What should have been left alone
And was dwelt on
It's just like old times
Cloudy winter eves
To bounce thoughts off paper
Like headlights reflecting in the puddles
The beautiful blurry version of reality
an impressionist painting of the ordinary
There are times at night when looking up at the sky
No longer inspires much more than a cold
Though the evening feels spectacular
Immediate and vast
Don't be fooled into believing the moment
For the stars are only the memories of lost luminescence
Falling in love with the emptiness of space
It is no more divine than lemmings scurrying off a cliff
And forcing love is the same way
Like blindly committing suicide,
The romance is lost somewhere between soaring dive
And bloody impact.
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