There we were, two souls so young

Still hanging on the words to come

Of those we loved, admired, or aspired

To be. I think it was the pain of growing

Knowing that we were not enough,

Not for ourselves or those around us.

“Love” was something we didn’t know,

Not as we wanted to know, but at least,

We could be enough for each other.

We could be enough for each other.

As we held each other’s hands, on summertimes still end

Along the sand, the sea, within the salted wind,

I knew we began to fall, maybe not in love,

But into something that was new, when we gazed into the moon above.

Perhaps it was the first time, we felt understood,

The ways of old did not allow, a single word misconstrued.

We were the future of the past stuck,

Where we were born was filled with rotted love and luck.

Children of the Golden Fields filled with rows of Wheat,

Beneath a choking, crisp blue sky, a beauty of gods feat.

But there the hunger spread, rampant, with flags so red.

From there they chose to run, with fear within their eyes

The fear made you, and it made me, is what I hypothesize.

Then the winter came, and wind was weaponized

The sand and wind bit at our skin; we couldn’t fantasize.

The spark was running thin, reality set in.

It was mostly me not you, succumbing to their doubts,

Mistake by mistake, one decision poorer than the last,

All for some social clouts.

The weight of all my actions, were coming for me fast,

We we’re so young spinning whirlwinds, of our own design,

The thing we shared, the things we felt were no longer benign.

Oh how I wished it was the summertime,

Oh how I wished it was the summertime.

At least in there we thought we had

Shared pains for us to feel,

Though those pains never left

These were much more real.

It was all becoming real.