And Sunday was quite telling.
Of one and another.
The one by the fountain was the icing on the cake.
The other by the table kept flashing double takes.
The one was there, then disappeared.
The other was there, and wouldn't.
I guess this may be a fault by me, a block in the path I didn't see.
But how could I recognize the unfamiliar scene when I've honed my whole life the art of repelling?
Then when one comes, I've no experience to show.
And the other is blinded by those glasses of rose.
I really do wish one would understand this state I'm in,
That I can hardly, comfortably, let anyone in.
Well I want to, but circumstance was not my best friend.
And one was a bit presumptuous if you ask me.
Now the other, dear other, good and charming, dear other.
One day you will wake up and find your other.
But not me, not me, no, now not me.
And I'm sure many more would love to be the source of your charm.
Do not be alarmed.
I surely am not.
The pining heart doth wander about many things.
But with one I am done.
As the other trails behind.
But shall I forget that which was so meaningful?
That which was so beneficial to my state and process of thinking?
That which has heightened my standard?
The icing on the cake that one created on Sunday is beginning to melt.
Kind of.
But Self, stop whining.
All in good timing.
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