I have to forget many things of love.
First the love that I am not entitled.
The love that I have created
But have failed to communicate.
The love that I have been offered
From someone who has no mind.
The love that I have messaged
But response is shy, or neglected.
The love that I have mentioned
But not assumed to form bondage.
The love that forsakes my heart
It is like shaking off the dust.
The love that comes on an unbelievable way,
But it has no recurring concurrence.
The love that elucidates me
And has the risk of getting hurt.
The love that does not care me,
Yet it has a shape of a heart,
And it is dangerous thinking love
That brings a runway for lifting
On the sky of love, that is
Void of performance, not being into contact.
I know life is painful and mournful,
I know life has many half turns,
I know life has meditative performance
Into the love of the earth, and have senses like fire
And we live in speech of love at the last.
And I have to think about the love
That has no reaffirming attitudes towards me,
And it is a kind of love that does not harbor
The values of accomplished flavor of love.