I had this story to tell.
Of this boy and this girl who were far down the well.
The well of love of course.
It was natural, certainly not be force.
But then I realized that I would be following in Disney’s path,
So I’ll tell you one that ended in wrath.
Not because I want to dampen the aura,
But because there are stories like this among the plethora.
A girl meets a boy,
And she calls it love.
A boy meets a girl,
And he was quick to start it up with a powerful shove.
She labels things too quick,
And he fast forwards with the ease of a click.
It’s sad, but it’s true.
Vice versa, on either side, it could brew.
The well dries up,
Mainly because they both see a half-empty cup.
Maybe one tried too hard,
Or the other watched it shatter into shards.
Each story is different.
But we grow and we learn.
We learn through past hurts,
And we learn to try again, and to plant our little kern.
With the hopes that it will grow and blossom.
Blossom into something far more beautiful.