there she goes

And when he kisses me it tastes like love but his love tastes a lot like leaving.

Sometimes, love dies. Sometimes, love dies like the falling autum leaves That swirl in a storm And before you know it, the summer is over. Sometimes, love dies like the ever widening spaces in midnight phone conversations, Just like the crackle over the line swallows your soul, Love swallows you whole. It’s musty rankness creeps up on you in the middle of your third dance, When your lipstick begins to fade and the cocktail has gone stale Love fails. Sometimes love reeks of broken dreams And heaving, bruised promises. It stinks of the clamor for survival against all odds. Though it boasts of battle sores, Sometimes, love loses the war. Sometimes love dies, Fading away faster than the colors of the polaroid That made love grow in the first place. Sometimes, love renders lovers faceless. Sometimes, when love dies, It ends the lies, Just so you can live a little.

Optimist: someone who isn’t sure whether life is a tragedy or a comedy but is tickled silly just to be in the play.

This I try to remember when time’s measure painfully chafes, for instance when autumn flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing to stay—how everything lives, shifting from one bright vision to another, forever in these momentary pastures.

A lover doesn’t discourage your growth. a lover says, ⠀ ⠀ ‘I see who you are today, I cannot wait to see who you become tomorrow.