Wholehearted

At first contact, our eyes spoke for us.

The room was filled with its own machinations.

We observed on the balcony the creation of dusk

while others performed their own casual flirtations.

Our first conversation was that of legend.

Not quite that of a generational love song,

but it was enough to alter our hearts’ dimensions,

paving the highway of a connection seeming strong.

Fast forward the show to some point in the future

where such conversations no longer exist.

One too many shouts and door slams became our tutors,

but miscommunications should have been something to resist.

It is a rite of passage to grieve, perhaps even a perfected art

to learn there is nothing so whole as that of a broken heart.