Modern Romanticism

I’ve been missing it,
for time has a way
to get me to forget
where you’ve left it.

The seductive ripples
within history’s pages,
upon oceans that upkeep
the pattern of their
unending waves,

I cannot always do it,
when you’re not here.

Life has its ways
to further my approach
into itself, distracting me
from what I lost
along the way.

Am I nothing when I’m
living here, finding out
when the next period
of yearning takes place?

Am I something when I
keep my footsteps,
constantly consistent,
while my wounds heal
to make me resistant?

In this, love has
fallen in love with death,
is dragging out its breath
with the single beat
of a heart that might have
never even existed.