Love was a dream, and loss was poetry

& so it goes..

A student in a classroom studying her least favourite chapter.

There’s a test coming up and only when she starts studying does she realize its importance.

It’s the chapter that all other chapters are based on. A necessary part of this book.

Not her favourite but it grows on her. She has to go through it if she’s ever to get through the upcoming ones.

A man at a bar waiting patiently for his date before his patience starts running out.

A few half hours of excitement, another few half hours of disappointment, and finally a half hour of acceptance.

She’s not showing up.

Faced with two choices: leaving to save himself from further embarrassment or having a drink with the person living inside.

Two thoughts: he’s been stood up or this is what she’s missing out on.

Not his favourite night but self-assured enough to know it happens and it will pass.

A flower uprooted from its home. Planted in a less than exciting pot on a human’s work desk.

Same face to look at every day. Same voice to hear.

Life no longer in the hands of nature. It belongs to two strange hands lightly rubbing it ‘good morning’ on a good day, wondering if it feels.

It misses the wild.

A few weeks of downturned leaves and pale colours followed by the revelation that maybe just maybe this human is also uprooted.

Maybe it feels as well.

Same face, same voice, and a tiny wish of a ‘good morning’ rub. This is life now.

Not it’s favourite but humble enough to sacrifice its freedom to add colour to a stranger’s life.

Two people joined by fate and separated by circumstance.

A story of love. A story of loss.

Hanging on by a thinning thread. Separating because sometimes letting go is a natural progression.

A necessary chapter in a book which demands to be read.

A soul who for once acknowledges that there’s a world beyond the one outside. There’s a whole world within.

A being who knows that things don’t always happen the way we expect them to and that with time you can adapt to beeing outside your comfort zone.

Not their favourite memory but at least the love was a dream and the loss is poetry.