Where does love go if it does not die?
If it never fizzles, fractures, or morphs into something ugly?
If it is not burned at the stake or strangled empty of all its good intentions?
If two people choose to walk away from a worthy thing because love is not enough?
Where does love go when we are simply…
Will my lost love be shunted into a bank of unclaimed property, collecting dust until something triggers memory of its existence?
Will my saved love burn holes in my pockets and trickle out the bottoms until I have nothing left to give?
Or will I give it away too freely to underserving beneficiaries, uneducated of its value?
Will my quiet love find peace in another heart, in another town?
Will I bury it within my body, only until I explode with the madness of missed possibility?
Will I rest it on a shelf, high above arms reach, so that I can see but cannot touch?
(Please, God) Will this love fade into something more tolerable?
Or will it become impossible to say his name without resentment?
I am quite sure that love like this cannot die of natural causes.
No, love like this must be murdered.