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Falling Past Love
According to the clockwork sniffing in my chest,
I had been waiting for this moment all my life.
Each greeting of music that danced the air.
Each daring lyric that pricked me like a sentinel.
Each book that made me tilt my head in thought.
Each poem that lifted me so I might better see.
The resonance of native moments, recognized as real,
These all told me... I am ready for you.
Love. Once in a life. The one who extends.
Attraction that chooses and cannot be explained.
...it is here, was it? just within
reach. my. open. hand...
Passion never fits into lives carefully drawn,
even if it is the point of the story.
How can we be sure the right time has come
when each moment speaks a new language?
How can we know the best chance hasn't gone
until all moments lay spent in the grave?
How can we know what is ours if the future
changes every second? How can we know?
How can we know we are in and not
falling past love?