Just how it always is, 
a beginning, middle and end.
why does it feel so refreshing
to watch as we all go through again.
to setting new strengths 
and letting go of once woes -
why is it I grieve my willing,
to pedestal such forgetting.

A wild gist over peaks,
falling in on deep sinks -
how is it I feel the uneasy resting,
of praising in my cheeks.
I don’t know where to go
or the proper food to eat, 
to allow my body drive forward 
in this accepted defeat.

The stories merge in pain,
while these memories become stains 
in our clothes that 
curl up to ignore you.
if the right gesture is found
as ridiculous as it sounds,
we don’t wear ourselves down
to throw ourselves out.

Much longer more
is the constant restate of us, 
until one comes along
we can comfortably be one.
For my making of me,
and your making of thee,
is choosing the ugly 
and loving what's undone.