The Cure.

New poem

So young, very human, with life pumping through your veins, and sensations approach the millions, they fade, they spin. Careful, cautious, correct, but feelings you describe with indirect. Sound waves that drive you to the edge, retreat you do to a bubble, instead. Enjoy the silence, friend. Fear of awkward, fear of displease, mentally falling to my knees. My love might only make you colder. And time will pass on, and on, forgetting me as you approach older. Is it, will it, always be like this? Sharp and open, as the days become heavier and weighted. If only I had the cure. If I only had The Cure.