Sinful Writing

Sophia the First

I have love.

 

There was a boy who I loved much, so dear,

In this little village where I was reared.

My name's Sophia; his name's John Arthur,

He loved me, too, like there's no failure.

 

It's so sweet because he's my first boyfriend,

And I, too, was his very first girlfriend.

We loved with a love that's stronger than love,

I and this very handsome turtledove.

 

We would finish each other's sentences,

And build around our hearts sturdy fences.

On evenings, we spent time by True Love's Lake,

Eating cinnamon bread which I did bake.

 

Once, we planned to go to a willow tree,

And carve, "Forever: SOPHIE and ARTIE",

We weaved flower bracelets for each other,

And both said: "I love you, babe, forever."

 

Then, ah, we would talk about adult stuff,

Like cars and houses with pillows, so fluff;

Like the number of children we will make,

And jobs, in the future, that we will take.

 

I made love.

 

And because I loved him and I was sure,

That our love was genuine, true, and pure,

After five years or so, I did allow,

That my field of love, his machine will plow.

 

A night of love, two souls became one,

It's near morn when we realized we're done.

It's the best thing for me; I won't pretend,

I just didn't know things would start to end.

 

For I loved him more and he loved me less,

Maybe I was awful in bed, I guessed.

He became silent and he became cold,

The day I dread neared--started to unfold.

 

We seldom spend time, now, by True Love's lake,

We don't eat bread, anymore, that I bake.

More often we fought over little things,

Rarely, he texts me; rarely, my phone rings.

 

Stead of flower bracelets, we weaved chillness,

And those "I love you's", he didn't express.

We only discussed about yesterdays,

And not the future--something's not okay.