I love the time that I didn’t love myself,
the past plays upon my mind;
I was too busy with pleasure to consider
what the future would find.
I wandered the quiet forests of imagination
waiting for everything to be mine;
Disappointment followed me there, to the tree
wishing to turn back time.
Every sigh a plea, the heartbeats heavy
when will my love find me here?
Building towards a crescendo, I found
what I wanted, too late to hear.
The sun was always hiding, slipping through
my fingers, clenched white in fists;
Missing the chance pleasure of the rain
even as it so casually persists.
Inspired by this piece at Ask Molly, which I found via Maia’s Tiny Hearts here
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
1994ever 