The Poet’s Corner

Unkind

The years were not kind to us.

I do not know you anymore;

and you never knew me.

You are now just a memory.

I wish that you were more,

but you are not.

We could not survive the passing seasons;

there have been those muted sparks,

flickering for a moment,

before quickly dying out.

We did not make it,

but that is not news,

is it?

It is better this way.

You were never good for me,

I needed you to love me

more than you loved yourself.

But, that was the one thing which

you were never going to do.

 

~ Cristina Jill Mosqueda ~

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