A single heart once fed me for days
fruitful with future possibilities
fueled by walking winter nights together.
You were drunk. So was I.
You on beer, I on sight,
but we both sobered quickly that night.
I knew from day one the dream would end,
but prolonged it with “let’s be friends,”
but we were never friends, just hobbyists.
We committed to different trades.
You were a teacher, and I was a slave.
You continued your vocation, but I changed.
I found now love made from plastic, vinyl, and metal.
My diet outgrew meat and moved toward grains,
fruit I could grow on my own.
I tired of the chase. I never caught what I wanted.
Even when I did, it never looked the same up close,
lacking the glimmer that trapped me a mile away.
Too many wrinkles, sour humanity,
not enough of the glamour I drew
from the hearts on screen that symbolized dreams.
They were only flashes of light, distractions
from a life I did not want to live. Now that I do,
the hearts float away like clouds
I’m unable to grasp, but nothing is lost.

Image by footiechic from Pixabay

Critique

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