dead love

I don't remember a day when I didn't think about her for
longer than a moment.
it's sad holding onto such frail memories,
this I know.
it is a hopeless love memory gone
wrong
long after it's been bad to remember.
supposed to of forgotten by now.
not supposed to love
what does not love back.
it is like looking into the withering death of a flower.

one thing I remember
most is her style of love,
obsessive.

ah, the smooth heartbreaker.

to go back,

I would touch her soft face and
look into the amber glow of her eyes.
the ghost I love.

her I can never touch again.

love is hopeless this way,
particularly the former lovers that left.
you wish to forget them,
and you do, for a while.
but at one point or another you remember.

it was an original romance like
this original poem.

and though these feelings aren't anything special,
it is better than no feelings at all.

at least in the end,
we still have something to hold onto,
if not just a ghost.

the ghost of my dead love.