Modern Romanticism

You were saying to me
that all has been through chance,
the fact that we’ve braved tides,
sheltered under storms,
raced through those miles
while always torn
in balancing upon a thread.

That thread, it kept our journey
just one step further,
as we struggled, with all our kisses
upon our throats that swallowed air,
along with our pride.

We humbled ourselves,
loving our victories,
though you looked beyond,
wanting more than perfection.

Love had been kind
to keep you upright,
landing your feet on earth
as bright as those gardens
we grew, in desiring
our moments of solace.

Among this woe,
we might’ve kept living
for each other,
for endless remedy.

That woe was your guilt
to be free from me,
free from what we’ve built
even when no one could believe.