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The truth about love is that it isn’t just life. 
The truth is that it is a set feeling in your heart that happens once
And never goes away.  
Like a painting, you paint, with the utmost creative cells in your mind, once you create it, the 
image is there forever.  
My heart is a lonely heart.  It’s scared, fearing everyone life will bring into mine. 
Children mostly.  
I dried another tear, just yesterday.  Let it trickle onto the counter top.  It evaporated with 
my lost thoughts and words.  Once again nothing happened. 
Life moves on.  Why can’t I go with it? 
I lie awake imagining what I must have.  It’s more then one person should ask for.  
It’s not fulfilling to live with half of my heart in something that is supposed to make me 
whole.  
I wonder what kind of person that makes me, do I deserve to be imprisoned by my lunatic 
mind? 
Probably. 
I could sprint toward that picture love I created, but it wouldn’t welcome me.  
It left me back in Oregon on the sandy beaches. It is imprinted on the dock, where the water 
rolled in and took that picture right into the sea.  
I could run a marathon in a dead sprint, and never catch that breeze again.  Though I keep 
imagining what it would be like. 
 I do not know what I should deserve here; I know it’s intriguing to think it’s possible.  
My life will weep forever. Its dream set on what doesn’t exist anymore. 
The truth about life is once you have found that feeling; you have to learn to overcome it.  
You have to overcome love.  
I can’t do that.  I can’t make myself forget.  I have tried.
I will stay here in Oregon.  Where the waves in my heart come and go with every memory. I 
will stay, always waiting...for nothing, because it was once something

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