the ruin of my soul~ third collection of poetry

maybe it's love

like a song from the 70's that you never knew existed
that you listen to for the first time.
really understanding the lyrics
despite the song having always existed.
and all of a sudden you realize it's there
and it becomes your favorite song
even though the artist is long gone.
it's sudden and throws you off guard
with it's beautiful lyrics and melody
it feels like you're being transported somewhere
that has nothing but you and your new story
alone in the world
with harmonies colliding
leaving you in inexplicable peace.
maybe that's what falling in love feels like.
someone who's always been there
but all of a sudden they smile at you one day
and suddenly they become the only thing you can think about every morning and night
and when with them it feels like
anything is possible.
the feeling comes out of nowhere
even though that person has always been there
living a whole different life
then colliding with yours.
now they're your favorite thing
and they get stuck in your head all day long
against your will.
it's annoying
and persistent
but at times you don't mind
because it's something that you
have grown to like.
like winter and summer
opposites attract
that have always been there
yet come different every year.
maybe that's what love feels like too.
every time you fall in love its with a different season
and you like them all
but if you could only have one
you'd choose your favorite.
when the cool summer breeze
and pink blossom trees
meet leave covered lakes
and ice cold snowflakes
you're reminded by each season
different every year
that you can't predict the weather
but you love it anyway.
maybe that's what love is.
falling asleep to your favorite song
or lying with your lover.
tasting the flurries of snow
or burying them under covers.
maybe love is like the seasons
predictable but not
meeting someone and randomly
falling in love.
maybe love is like a song
that you have just found
and hearing their voice
is your new favorite sound.
maybe love is like the morning
bleeding into night
but always returning
with beams of sunlight.
maybe love isn't just that
not just a bunch of poems
maybe it's more
than writing
could ever show.