To sum up their years?
The history of love and hate.
Perhaps love is too strong of a word.
History of lust and hate.
No.
Not it either.
Years spent on and off
Left and right.
Up and down.
Years spent through the whitest winters.
Weekends spent in a king sized bed surrounded by one another's loving embrace
Summers spent in the valley of mother nature.
critters chitter chatter.
The sun glazed on the lakes, its shiny , sleek appearance oh so lustrous to one's eye.
Summers spent on late nights.
Up with the moon conversing of the future to be.
Late night walks were filled with joyful smiles and warm laughs.
Spring?
Spring was prime time.
Spring was spent in the most vibrant manner.
Spring was adventure.
Spring was excitement!
But most importantly,
Spring was secrets that needed to be amended.
So here it is,
This love is bitter.
This love is a jar filled lies
Eyes red, lights gone
Bloodshot, regrets
Love's gone, stay gone.
This love fuss
This love fights
This love cries and lose connection in sight
The history is blind.
The history is dark.
The history of love is indifferent
For how can you follow along if you are not on the same page?
Years spent back and forth
Years spent in quarrel
Fall was spent in isolation
Isolated by choice.
Alone by wish.
Fall spent in weary cries.
Deep red cuts of painful sounds and hateful voices.
Summer you could hear the heartbeat.
You can sense the revival
You can feel the awakening
Summer you were at peace
Winter was the sorrow of the mind and body.
Winter brought back the cold and the hate.
Winter brought out the animosity and the spite.
Spring was nevermore...
Spring is bittersweet memories.
Spring is broken dreams and broken voices.
Spring is broken love.
Heart beaten, coarse throat
Loud screams, weary faces.
The history of their years?
To sum up would be the history of bittersweet love and hate
But...
The love's gone, it's gone
This love?
There is no love.
