*Love is a day,
Fleeting, not eternal.
Promises are vague,
Books are just stories, with happy endings or not.
Poems are feelings,
The truest among them,
For in poetry, you write what the heart thinks,
Not what the mind commands.
What’s left of you is nothing, an eternal void,
From the same love that was sworn to you.
Loving is a day,
Driving you home in your car
On a night that perhaps wasn't so romantic,
But beautiful.
It’s just a day.
Tomorrow it may mean something to my poems,
But not to the one i wrote for.
To love... To love is only a day,
Brief, vague, and fleeting,
With colors dancing in the sky that once was blue.
Our laughter was like bright stars in the distant horizon,
Today? They’re just raindrops that haven’t yet fallen.
At twilight, what we called love vanished overnight,
But my tears still shine with tenderness and regret.
If love really is just one day,
It would be the day the sun shone more dimly,
When our whispers were scattered to the calm winds,
And the tears, a chaotic relief for a mind pretending to be calm.
you know,
I loved you at dawn,
Lived you through the afternoon,
Even knowing it would end at dusk.*


