Why did the barren beauty cross the road?
In the hopes that she’d leave the earth quicker,
but the sick thing about it is, life just goes on,
even when you feel you’ve been living too long.
Line her up.
Livened up, by the door frame,
It’s a start,
just a breath,
just a wish,
just a step in the right direction.
It’s all fine, until she wonders,
what if it really meant nothing at all?
What if this is all she’s meant to be?
What if all the waiting was for nothing?
Does it even matter?
The girl I love most in the world believes that I hate her,
all because I’ve been so cruel and unkind when she tried her best.
It’s all fine.
I’m asking her not to cross the road without imagining a hand to hold,
but she flutters her eyes,
as the cars pass by,
and I know that look.
Is it alright to admit that I’m getting sick of being the barren beauty who crosses the road?
Back and forth and back she goes.
What if it really meant nothing at all?