The death of love so silent yet sudden
I found me grieving endlessly for years
The need to answer my one thousand questions
That it may release my only pain
The pain that I may only try to understand but nought ..
Perhaps I am a sadist, fallen to the temptation of sadness
In a morbid melodramatic way, it makes my life more interesting.
Yet if it were not true, then why do I deny myself freedom?
To let go, to believe in happy endings
To believe that 'good things come to those who wait'
Alas as true as women come, I am fickle.
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