we once laughed and danced and kissed beneath the moon,
our passion ─ like a flower that bloomed too soon
but now in the pages of our love's short tale,
I see the warning signs that make me go pale
the unease, doubt, and worry always there,
despite the warmth and joy we seem to share
what once felt like a fabric woven by destiny,
now fills up my heart with a load of scrutiny
the history of love we thought to be so strong,
seems to fading away like the notes of a forgotten song─ I try to keep holding on, but it's all in vain
YOU ARE READING
Throes of Spring ✔️
Poesía[FEATURED] godhood is just like girlhood: a begging to be believed