Modern Romanticism

It was honest.
It wasn’t true,
because the light,
that one that let us
always thrive
had extinguished.

It was potent.
It didn’t last,
alongside the rush
we felt during times
we were buried
in the dark.

Hope kept us going
when eyes were looking
to thinning horizons.

Grace kept us upright,
as hearts were pounding
on fragile reflections.

Before it’s time
to let us go,
we should decorate
the memories that follow
with as little bitterness,
as much sweetness
as we can allow.

Messages will float
in different directions,
departed as words
on random gusts.

We’ll drink our tears
during hours,
the ones where pain
comes in as close
as we were.