And this is what I wrote.

Love is such a simple word.
Four letters long, it seems absurd,
To think four years ago I was smote,
By love, and this is what I wrote.

“I love you, love you, love you so.
I hope that someday you will know,
Why it is I put you so high.”

And to this she asked me, “Why?”

“Because you just make my heart skip.
That feeling on my finger tips,
When you set your lips to mine,
Like a puzzle piece I just couldn’t find.
I’ll hold on to this with titan’s grip,
For you I’d make one thousand trips.”

But those trips, they never came.
Only I was left to blame.
The wound of distance five states long,
Was a wound, for us, far too strong.

Another year later, a healed up wound,
And once again, I was screwed.
For love had played yet another note,
And this is what I wrote.

“I love you, love you, love you so.
I hope that someday you will know,
Why it is I put you so high.”

And yet again, the reply was, “Why?”

“Because you laugh at all my jokes,
I think of you at school, work and home.
I’ve made your image in pen and pastel,
Because sometimes writing just cannot tell,
How much it means to me that you can love,
A boy like me, who’s two years young.”

But a year passed by with mixed replies.
The same old thing on a different night.
Until July when the sun had fell,
And of her love she could not tell…

A few months later, just by chance,
I ran into a girl with tight blue pants.
We danced in front of a stage in our coats,
And this is what I wrote.

“I love you, love you, love you so.
I hope that someday you will know,
Why it is I put you so high.”

But this girl never asked why.

So I never told her why it was,
That I would hold her just because,
I wanted to hold her when she slept.
She just always seemed to accept,
That what it was, was what it was.
I guess that’s just what love does…

But of this love I must forget.
She kissed me less than those cigarettes.
She drank to drunk and I lost faith,
In what she was. I wouldn’t wait.

But time will tell what love has done.
It seems a battle that none have won.
A lump still left inside my throat,
This is what I wrote.

“A lack of faith. I guess I’ve had enough,
Of this emotion that we call love.”