Romance.
What is it?
It seems I knew long ago.
Vague memories of poetry and flowers.
Maybe only the young can imagine it still.
The heartaches break in pieces and build a rubble filled wall of doubt
and disbelief.
The heart goes into hiding.
Romance is wishful and wistful and wondrous.
Cynicism abounds and shoots down any bird of hope that dares to fly.
What is it?
It seems I knew long ago.
Vague memories of poetry and flowers.
Maybe only the young can imagine it still.
The heartaches break in pieces and build a rubble filled wall of doubt
and disbelief.
The heart goes into hiding.
Romance is wishful and wistful and wondrous.
Cynicism abounds and shoots down any bird of hope that dares to fly.
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