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Above my open science book
I elevated my reality so as
to make it fantastic like you.
And through that haze of passion,
free from and bound to the
weighty connotation that comes with it,
Veiled by the cloudy tears
which were never cried nor counted for,
I came to terms with the fact that

Love is infinite,
But you and I are not.

Looking down and listening to the
freshest words on Earth, I watch you
tap your finger on the wooden booth.
Into my coffee, I breathe heat on heat
And exhale the laughter for which
you were a catalyst, my love
I am a chemical, you mixed me
with the things you loved and so
I became one of them.
But time itself is a variable
And, my dear, there is no control group.

Love is infinite,
But you and I are not.

When you hike the Appalachians,
Do I walk through the brush in your mind?
When you stand at the top of Mill's peak,
Do you feel as alone as I do?
When you look down at the quaint little cabins,
pale specks of living light against the dying dusk,
Do you wonder if we could have lived in one,
And does that make your sleeping fitful?
When you take in the vast expanse before you,
Do you ever wonder what forever means
and why we couldn't have it?

When you said you loved me,
Did you know?
That you and I are only human
Children of science and loose hypotheses
We are not entitled to eternity.

Love is infinite.
But you and I cannot be.





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