Unrequited

Life is as unrequited love.

It is unexpected, unexplained,

And is simply borne, one day, from laughter and beauty.

With smiles and teases it matures to infancy;

Still innocent and free from blame.

In childhood it grows all the more

With vanity, insecurities and jealousy.

And then, when you think it obvious

—when you think it eventual—

You begin to question its sanity in those pubic years.

Adulthood comes along and then you know, for intelligence sets in.

It grows no more;

Encounters no more seemingly unmovable mountains.

And you accept this. This helpless, helpless thing it is.

And you calm it yet cherish it in old age.

It becomes, then, simply friendly smiles and meaningless glances.

It becomes no more.