He is standing, waiting by the door – our door
A relatively handsome man, just like I can remember him, really
Grown-up now, of course, his face a little or a whole lot more learned
These crows-feet are simply beautiful, in my eyes at least
They surely map out his own travails, sometimes devoted to what’s slugglishly snail-paced, at other times bringing with them this utter need to force him to push things far faster – soon as Manhattan made him the man he always dreamt of being
He is, above all else, a measure as to how society has treated him
Mean to keep him all kinds of keen
Willing to finally attempt to meet it halfway, serendipitous perhaps?
This is our first date and we are trembling, incredibly so
Wanting; no, longing to be the best versions of ourselves that we can ever be
His strong hand envelopes mine, letting the latter relax into place, set the scene
It is rather plain to see that he has forever dreamed of stealing all of me away
The only real question that remains to be answered is will I do so much as let him disarm me entirely?
Once upon a crying shame
We came, we unequivocally saw, and we failed to conquer our sophomore hearts
And now we remain all too sizeably apart, tremendously distanced with our fledgling appetites as insatiable as ever
When finding that one true love never felt so very impossible, like a long lost treasure
Buried and typically forgotten

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