nothing makes sense, but still you love

daydreams
create
possibly reality,
or the future.

beauty perfected
in red, blues, whites;
stretches, softness, twine,
everything you ever wished to be...

you know what his wishes are now,
you've always known, in a way.

you know what will happen,
eventually.

you accept it,
eventually.

condensation greeting beige
is not an option.

time is cruel,
but still,
you press on.

she has always been above you
and you love her, still.
but she has,
and still will,
take everything from you.

you know everything that goes on,
and you see things that other people
may discard.
he loves her, but also
you.
he loves her,
more than you.

in the end, she is who he will
pick.

she is who he thinks of
when he thinks;
color, thought,
touch, taste, love.

for you, it's the same
for you, it will never change.

nothing ever makes sense.

you love her,
and everyone built their lives around her
and you did once, too.

this is the begging of an end
it's the beginning of a beginning too,
and acceptance is the dance of your mind.

this is the end of an end.
the dryer of all sight,
the cycle of sickness.

this is the end.
this is the beginning.

you conformed to her once,
you saw others conform too

and your love,
it conforms, finally,
too,
as you expected.

[he will take her,
over you,
and you once took him over...
the speech he records to you,
the laughs you will miss
it all adds
up]

and now,
it's not the time
to speak, to write.

now is the time
to sleep.