there was music in the way they existed,
and history crystalized, rich like rose quartz
secrets lay folded in the pages of his bible
she loved him but not enough to say it
he loved her so he kept her words anyway,
placed her between leaves of salvation
looking into the future he swore existed
but we distort the truth to save ourselves
sometimes these things are crystal balls
and sometimes they're just mirrors:
light reflected by unspoken hopes
hopes refracted, unrequited
some jumps are worth taking
she loved him but not enough to fall.
YOU ARE READING
Today, Love: An Anthology of Self
Puisiit's easier to define certain mysteries by what they are not
