A lot of the nights I spend under my covers,
Wondering and imagining of what became of my past lovers...
Of the tall boy with so much hair,
Whose wild curls covered his angry glare.
Or of the man who loved trains,
Who would so eagerly do it all over again.
What of my beautiful, beloved old friend,
Is she going to always play pretend?
And of my dearest wanderer, lover of travel,
Will he ever learn of what he cannot unravel?
And fnally of my sad, angry man, would he be happy now,
- would he be able to defeat his old nightmares somehow?
They say that true love comes once in a lifetime,
as if loving more than once would be a crime.
But I will always have love for my past companions.
In my life, in my growth, they all played their part - they all have helped me to shape who I am now.
But all I ever hear, apparently.. loving all of them is wrong somehow.
©pastalive
P