Once there existed a teenager who was filled with something

That would never leave his mind, something heavy and lifting.

A head that wobbled just like a log that stands afloat, aware…

Moods and ideas, and questions that might have been premature.

But who is to say what time is righter or truer to feel what he felt?

That nothing could be more right or true, that he thought he knew.

Away went the months and the years that passed with him hoping,

For what is sweet about this guy is the way he cared not about time

Or the pain it brings, or even less that it was in vain and yes, he knew.

Learning that people can not reciprocate in that measure we expected.

Listening to advice that is valid but so hard to believe in, so pointless.

Living in a hunt for my place with her, or hers with me. But who is she?

I think he eventually perceived that disappointment can teach something,

Not to him, for some things some hearts weren’t made to accept, to live by.

Waterlogged for long, up until it clicks, will it be mine turning off or yours on?

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