Where does love go - Cerulean Poetry
Last week, someone asked, "Where does our love go?" I wanted to write about it and looked for an angle without being too cliche or cheesy.
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Where does love go
I nearly walked along, not recognising but in front, of so-to-say: you There, in weathered letters, at first quiet and then loud, It spelled your name, and date of birth — out. I remember our first kiss, we were so silly and now this. And then, in love — I brought mine back to you. Thought — — — I was hoping that if that happens We would be silly about it, too. If I had never found you again, I would have hoped forever to stumble across you and then — — — — What a silly thought. I could have reached out, but it's put in stone that, I could not.
Going Somewhere - Audio Version
Thoughts
Last week, someone asked, "Where does our love go?" I wanted to write about it and looked for an angle without being too cliche or cheesy. Berlin is quite an old city that grew from surrounding towns and villages, so we have many cemeteries with many people in them.
In the modern world, cemeteries seem to be an anomaly. We don't see dead people anymore; people rarely die. In the past, people were dying much more often from war, sickness, and hunger. We generally expect people to be alive, even if we haven't seen them for a long while.
How would it feel to walk across a cemetery to learn that someone you could not forget was dead for a long time? For you, they died just in this moment. Would you have been happier if you never knew?
Godspeed
