I Will Always Wonder

I will always wonder what sort of love we had. I was naive and blindly infatuated. You were seventeen years older than I, and sad. From the beginning our shaky love was fated. We had met and I fell, but patiently waited, a fact for which both of our families were glad. Even though we spoke with words insinuated, I will always wonder what sort of love we had. I wonder if we were a curious dyad. Was this acerbic love become hate belated? Only God will decide if this is good or bad. I was naive and blindly infatuated. Love faded rapidly after we had dated. I wondered if I should remain calm or be mad, I questioned guilty feelings that were created. You were seventeen years older than I, and sad. You were time-worn, emotionally armor-clad. I understand now you would never be sated. You bore the spirit of an unsettled nomad, from the beginning our shaky love was fated. Achingly romantic dreams I had created, a basis for lifetime togetherness’ launchpad. Alas, I have become confused and frustrated. Tomorrow, in a renewed search for Galahad, I will always wonder.