I've known them for quite a while,
and many years have passed,
we're always irritating each other,
so it surprises me that we last.
But lately things have changed,
more so than they could,
a sadness fills the air,
more so than it should.
There's been tension between them,
here there are no lies,
but something bad is going on,
and it's hidden behind their eyes.
I know how they feel about the other,
and I know that they're both true,
but there's been a different feeling forming,
something foreign, something new.
It's a love that's been progressing,
something that's been left unsaid,
like a silent whisper calling,
or attempting to talk to the dead.
They won't tell each other,
and this saddens me so,
because if they were together,
who knows where they could go.
They could have something,
they may have never had before,
and who knows what else could happen,
who knows what could lay in store.
Their chance is slowly slipping,
slipping right from their grip,
and the more they will ignore it,
the more their heart and soul will rip.
It kills to see them unhappy,
and it hurts more to know why,
the real reason why he's slowly killing himself,
and why she gradually continues to cry.
I hate having to stand by,
and watch them suffer every day,
every moment that I'm living,
only puts me in more dismay.
My attempts to convince them,
are shot down every time,
they refuse to listen to what I say,
and believe I'm out of line.
They become closer every day,
with every second to pass,
he's become more interested in her,
at least, more so than her ass.
Their blue eyes wrapped in innocence,
latch to each other with guilt,
they know somethings coming,
to break down their wall they built.
They refuse to believe the truth,
which I have been continuing to say,
"if you don't say anything now,
who will be at the alter with you on that day?"
and many years have passed,
we're always irritating each other,
so it surprises me that we last.
But lately things have changed,
more so than they could,
a sadness fills the air,
more so than it should.
There's been tension between them,
here there are no lies,
but something bad is going on,
and it's hidden behind their eyes.
I know how they feel about the other,
and I know that they're both true,
but there's been a different feeling forming,
something foreign, something new.
It's a love that's been progressing,
something that's been left unsaid,
like a silent whisper calling,
or attempting to talk to the dead.
They won't tell each other,
and this saddens me so,
because if they were together,
who knows where they could go.
They could have something,
they may have never had before,
and who knows what else could happen,
who knows what could lay in store.
Their chance is slowly slipping,
slipping right from their grip,
and the more they will ignore it,
the more their heart and soul will rip.
It kills to see them unhappy,
and it hurts more to know why,
the real reason why he's slowly killing himself,
and why she gradually continues to cry.
I hate having to stand by,
and watch them suffer every day,
every moment that I'm living,
only puts me in more dismay.
My attempts to convince them,
are shot down every time,
they refuse to listen to what I say,
and believe I'm out of line.
They become closer every day,
with every second to pass,
he's become more interested in her,
at least, more so than her ass.
Their blue eyes wrapped in innocence,
latch to each other with guilt,
they know somethings coming,
to break down their wall they built.
They refuse to believe the truth,
which I have been continuing to say,
"if you don't say anything now,
who will be at the alter with you on that day?"
When does Love become something we need, rather than something we want? Love was seen as something special a long time ago. Now Love is what we are expected to have with us everyday of our lives. Love is common currency when you are a teenager, but turns to worthless pennies the older you get. Do we not care about the substance of what Love was and not what it has been made into today by commercialisation from American movies and Television commercials and soap operas? Only when we experience Love for real, can we comment and judge others who are in Love. Love means something different to everyone. Not two people’s feeling of Love is the same. Why do we generalize, rationalize and compartmentalize Love? Love is and will continue to be an enigma. Only a handful of people will ever unlock it and witness its true beauty and essence. The essence we all crave.
Love.
Love.