One part of me
lost what I was
searching for:
love.
Tatianna still calls
for a second round;
I ignore her
until she finally gave up.
Most nights consist
of finding myself
at the bottom of
alcohol bottles.
The only beauty I have left
is the artwork at the Met.
Even then,
it isn't a safe place.
Lydia comes by:
searching,
looking,
and guilty.
Maybe I need time
to fix myself.
Think better decisions I make
for this ridiculous thing
called love.
Work consists
sitting at the desk,
guiding guests,
or just walking.
Luckily,
I loved it.
"Hey Evan.
You got something
waiting for you
at the desk."
Thanks, Becky.
Arriving at the desk,
there in a brown vase
sat several green sage flowers.
On top was a card:
"Love is something eternal...
The aspect may change, but not the essence."
- Vincent Van Gogh
She knew how to cool my heart
instead of playing with fire.
I knew I didn't let her go,
when I felt myself grinning
the rest of the day.
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Aesthetic
ContoEvan is not sure if its the art or her that takes his breath away. Highest Rank: #135 in Poetry; #604 in Short Story