Psychedelic Slippers

Not a rose tailored to perfection, one hand-picked, off a rose bush, Fragile, petals that whimper Or may be a heart askew, filled with lines uncertain, “Red scarlet or Red violet?” Or a sticky note on the door, just before rush hour, begins, “Dinner at eight!” Or a song half written, for love, on a sojourn, “I love you, you love me too” Or being unsure, is Love, loving to love you? or Loving you love, to love you? Or finding the cracks, only to fill them up, “You may be broken, but I am the glue” ---*--*--- Happy Valentine's day Folks

Here, lifeless now, you were perfect; if not for the eyes that make you, so surreal. How could you do it? How did you pull yourself? (or push, I must say) Was it easy, giving up? How did you know? You had to stop? That there was nothing ahead, that you wouldn't, regret, wouldn't look back, and say, "I wish". What crushed you? Did you see yourself breaking? Crumbling, collapsing... Was it slow? like crawling to the finish line, pulling each muscle to make it! Would you think otherwise, now? Now, being a passer-by. Would you change ? Would you trade places and be, me, instead.