I no longer love as I did. I no longer live as it was. Life is filled with interruption. (Many see us. They can’t tolerate what they see.) & Love seemed perfect, such younger eyes. Phantoms & phantasmagorias. Dice upon a lucky eleven. To share it is vulnerability. To keep it bottled into pressures; those curious eyes, watching a video, & no one is aware. A perfect image. As it must be. & Love was excellence, where life was galaxies. Such mis-conclusions, forgone-conclusions, as mixed with disruption. Such is life, to find one purpose. Such as it remains, such as it dies, a picture as a memory. So many years. We dare not speak obvious skies. Tragic encounters, refusing to switch computers, & everyone is filled with bliss. Nay. It’s not there, it’s not here, the script keeps elusive. Slow rotting. Slow agonizing. A smidgen here, a smidgen there. Each believing something is incredible. Both loathing each other. Such beauty deserves to become immortal.
