Poetry and Prose
Trust in LoveA curious uncertainty
Not YearsIt was not years, but secrets chiseled into her once youthful face. Careless nights of alcohol and men had bred a species of hatred that coursed through her veins. Her wardrobe of moods lay in disarray on her bed. She never threw out her tattered underwear, placing them instead in what was meant as a jewelry box. Lifting its lid, a broken chorus wafted into the spaces around her. Pieces of torn, sometimes shredded, cloth mangled beyond recognition. Crotches missing or slit, jagged seams or pitifully threadbare. Only a careful eye would find the writings. Names of lovers, places, approximate times and dates. Blunt intimations strewn across fabric upon fabric. She lets out a sigh, but is not necessarily sad nor tired nor bored- for one should always remember, it was secrets and not years.
Of True LoveThere are very few chances in your life when you have the opportunity to express exactly how you feel. However fleeting they might be, you must grasp tight with every ounce of your being. The rest of your life will be lived in the shadow of your true intentions. Even then, your intentions are only as valuable as they are perceived to be. But know that it is never a question of how, when, why or who but of yes or no. Your heart will never be able to deny what it feels, so why should you?