Out of Tune
When I write you in a song,
I fall in love with the melody of our hearts,
Yours beating next to mine.
Then the song ends and you are no longer an open book,
As you try to play me,
Take me for a whirl,
No rests in your staccato beat.
Only half notes, never whole,
As you only give me pieces of yourself.
We crescendo into yelling,
As our relationship diminuendos
Into only a memory of a tune,
Whistled absentmindedly on a
Nothing-special sort of day.
|Picture courtesy of Google Images and http://bonnethouse.wordpress.com.|
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