it goes like this

she found herself falling
in and out of a world that
couldn't get enough of her
but couldn't get rid of her
fast enough. like a candle,
she burned for truth and
love she could call sacred,
but that boy was a child
with a single desire burning
up his brain. and what did
she know? as a girl sitting
on the floor, playing with
her toys, mom and dad
had explained the world
with a logic and a reason
that didn't leave any room
for love, and why should it?
"you live, you procreate, you die.
and love has no place among
our purposeful world. your
purpose does not allow for
love--don't ever fall in love
my dear, or you'll become
a slave." defiant as ever, she
searched for love, to prove
her senseless parents wrong--
but in all their teaching they
never told her how her father's
logic still locked the doors
at night and brought her
mother a steaming bowl of
soup when a scratchy throat
just wouldn't leave her alone.
so she imagined that love was
in her body, waiting to be let
out. this boy could let it out,
couldn't he? of course he could.
we'd love, she thought, and
then a golden band will lead
me into my life. the logical
life that has room for love.
i've proved them wrong. but
the boy didn't know how to
make soup or hold her hand
when the movie was just too
scary. to him, her body was
a playground and she quickly
became disillusioned.. love
doesn't exist. they're all the
same. and like a fallen angel,
she picked up the broken pieces
of her broken heart and trudged
into the darkness of a life
that has no room for love.

i never was this girl, but i
thought i might become her,
when i saw the emptiness of
that other boy's eyes. but your
heart soaked up mine in a
single instant, that day the sun
wasn't quite as warm as we
were sure it used to be. well
you have my heart, it's right
there next to yours, beating
in perfect time. i have plenty
to learn about the intricacies
of love, but a wise man (who
strangely resembles me, and
always loved my mother as if
she were a precious gem) once
told me that love can only be
seen in the how and what a
person does. love is, after all
the blinding light and racing
blood pressure, a verb in its
truest sense. you may follow
your feelings from time to time
but above all, you choose who
you love. i've chosen to love
a boy who knows how to make
soup and tenderly puts a
bandaid on the broken skin of
my pitiful little finger. if only
she knew that they aren't all
the same, it wouldn't always
go like this.