If

Standing at the precipice of unknown places,
wandering thru changes in possibilities,
labyrinth like,
hope shattered, broken, scattered,
tattered like burning Confederate flags post-Civil war,
supposedly all is fair there, but untrue in matters of love,
one million pieces of a heart,
unable to receive reconstructs,
the process as random as mutant genes,
the feelings long lasting as racism,
unable to cease, desist,
unfortunate,
especially when she comes, leaves,
as quickly as fallen leaves from withering trees’
limbs just before Winter,
cold as hearing her say,
“…just get over it”…

If she’d only meant,
“…take my hand,
let us follow these new memories,
allow them to lead us toward emotions never experienced.”