Lost I was, thinking of you.
Lost, past tense I say or do I lie?
That first visceral feeling I felt
Seeing you for the first time sitting outside before class.
Was that the root of what I felt?
Pure lust for your smooth tan thighs?
Is all the flowery talk of love and life just nothing but lies?
I don’t think so, but maybe a mix of truths.
Talking of romantic things, then looking at you,
Hearing romantic thoughts come out of your pretty face,
Imaging talking to you in all those beautiful imaginary places.
Talking to you now in the present place,
Recognizing my admiration you did, admiring my appreciation of beauty of all things
Even of you and this impossible ideal I set up in my mind.
All of these beautiful thoughts and things are as beautiful as they were then
As real as they ever were, or even more so.
Idle thoughts really, but aren’t those the best kind?
Imaging us together, but no more than we ever were than when we met.
I live to love bravely, though perhaps too quickly or slowly with you,
How hard to trust a fiery love that burns with disingenuous flame.
How easy to regret a question asked too late or soon
Or never said at all.
Simulated feeling, a facsimile of love,
Does a cloned emotion result in any less of a broken heart?
Broken I am not, but remembering you tonight I am,
Wallowing in an emotion,
Reminiscent for an epic romance that never was,
Lost in the pages of that book you lent me,
Misremembering a love you scarcely caused.
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