Too old to believe in promises and too old to make one. Maybe that was it, the underlying thought of the things when I usually ask you for some certainty.
Maybe yes, it's true that life is never promised. Maybe people change, relationship gets bored, feelings slip and stay.
Come one night over the phone, hard rain outside the door. Said you won't leave me but at the same can't assure to show love every single day.
Ironic how words cut deep. We hold on to memories, to the happenstances and to what we believe tied us. Yet ours seems to be nowhere to find.
Reckon the days of good old days where we worn new jeans. Too old to hold to things we aren't so sure. Our love is so pure.
Maybe that was it, the way of life. Halfway we aren't meeting, halfway feelings are getting old like your old faded jean.
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Love and Other Anxiety: a poetry collection
PoetryLove and Other Anxiety talks about the irrationality of being a lover, a partner, a friend and of being a person inside a relationship. One of the most crucial part of coming up with the idea of love as a form of anxiety is proving that it can be a...
