What choice is there, really?

I let myself fall for a story
I weave the threads together like an insane
Choose-your-own-adventure tale

Sometimes the path leads to
tender gazes, sweet gestures
the gentle touch of a hand
knowing questions and inside jokes
Full of the joy of loving

Other days
It’s sighs, sidelong glances and
Clearly drawn lines in the sand
Across cowardly distance
Be it oceans, or the touch of a hand.

I have reached the point
Where I don’t know which
Story is true
Or if there’s a third Adventure
I can’t see

This entry was posted in love, Poem, romance, writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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