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This lamp is fading but no pressure is adding up,
the more it burns low, the more my heart glows
because all I need right now is to be myself,
flow with the vibes and
peacefully hide when I'm not needed.
This thing we share is falling apart,
but it doesn't bother me.
I love it just the way it's happening,
and I can see myself smiling,
grinning and laughing out loud.
Is it really worth the worries?
Our theories don't fit,
our stories ain't the same
and no one is ready to fit in,
so the lamp is burning out,
running out of its oil.
My heart doesn't have to boil again.
I'll sincerely watch it fade away without rescue,
as much as I would have loved to preserve it,
I am not willing to single-handedly raise it.
I want us to grow together,
but God knows where your heart is.
Thank you for your time.
My pen doesn't bleed, it speaks, with speed and ease.
Still me,
My tongue is like the pen of a ready writer.
Olawalium; (Love's chemical content, in human form). Take a dose today: doctor's order.
In the image she looks pensive, immersed in her thoughts and he seems not to care about her presence, it makes me think of those marriages of years, at first everything is tender and after a few years they look like this or worse, love fading as you express it in the poem
Very well, my friend. Very well.