Heartbreak was never the aim of the game.
Not was collating the rest as conquests.
There wasn’t intentional slurry to bring worry.
Only the trail of blood said he should.
Be more careful and less wasteful, more tasteful and less hastened and dull.
His heart still longed for the romance that never gonged.
The sound of dreams slipped from his seams.
Hope bound to him and wound around his frowned face. He drowned.
Tears leapt from his eyes to skies like waterfalls hitting ledges and wedges of rock. His shock.
He clinged to hope, like a rope ascending a tough slope.
If it happens, happenstance will make it happen. If not, then now what?
Mistakes, shakes, and high stakes versus mountain walks, sea swims and great lakes.
Life goes on. Life. Goes. On. It goes on. And on. And onwards he goes.
ACTON28: AGAINST THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC 