This one; this is one that floored me.
Now through memory,
maybe there is a distant sign of distortion.
Possibly the truth is all opinion; possibly
falsehood of mind is destitute of another.
There are so many shades of every color,
no one could know what makes up a
In my thoughts, we were just too different,
she and I.
I was one to gaze at the magic of the stars,
and understand the reality of godlessness.
She believed that the magic of the stars was
not interesting enough.
That the magic of a fantasie creator being
made sense. Had to be behind the whole
shebang. The whole big bang.
We both somewhere deep knew that it was
what it was. Over. We were in love, yes.
Her hand in mine made every other organ
jealous, childishly envious, of my hand
having the ability to hold hers.
The nerves on the inside were dying
to just get out and have that luxury.
Then days turned into weeks into months into two years.
We weren’t really much then. No organs; no stars; no big bangs.
It was all just a matter of time.
Whoever it is that believes that time is an illusion, constructed by
is misguided in the least.