At what point is love just a lust for the past,
A gripping of things lost,
A lack of realization of the simple fact that
Things don’t last?
Do I feel a pain of longing in my heart for you,
Or for the companionship that your memory
Provides my hollowed soul?
At what point is the distinction drawn between
Here and a distant epiphany that I
Was not alone in the world?
Love changed me in the best of ways,
And the worst. For, now, I cannot let go.
I cannot know when things should go,
When life should flow away down
An endless stream of time.
Yet, is time linear? If not,
I still love you as I did then,
For then is now.
We are us.
And our love, infinite.