Your love was a cameo;
a supporting character to my storyline.
Transient, in every role
just like an inexpensive wine.
No plot twists or cannonballs,
a mere filler to buy extra time.
Yet somehow I'm missing you,
but I know that's not a crime.
Lights, camera, action
Act one: and you were already mine.
Your charm caused chain reactions,
audiences clung onto your every line.
Around the intermission,
we snuck away to unwind.
But like most of my romances,
ours was the tragic kind.
So, I take a bow and watch
as the curtains fall, this is our final act,
and, at least we had a ball,
silence as we fade to black.
Time stood still for nary a soul, it dragged its feet, aching and old. Blistering heat that made us melt, we were once softer than silk felt. Hallowed hearts wind whistled through, covered in bruises, black and blue. Hardly broken, but maybe bent, running on empty and love spent. There comes a day in all our lives, when our failures cut deep as knives. But you shall remain a triumph, you stayed with me, like a science. Words were whispered, curses, we'd shout, until the blood drained from our mouths. Yesterday—softer than silk felt; seems like all we do these days is yell.
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