Every night
it could be very easy.
Give me a sad moment,
and the tears will come.
I wonder sometimes
when I lose the meaning of love,
and I let it get blurred
by the reality of my tears.
I once sat on a park bench,
waiting for people to drive-by,
hoping someone would notice me,
but I never took into account
that it was two in the morning
and nobody really cares
about anything outside
of themselves
at that time of night.
One winter night
I walked down the middle of the street
where no cars could travel
because of a blizzard,
and somehow
I made it home on my own
because I hadn’t done the dishes
and my roommate
would be upset.
I could cry
at the drop of a dime
if I wanted to,
but then wouldn’t that
get old a little bit
too soon.
apersonaljourney - stories of love 