I’m standing in your wake.
A monsoon of hope and desire looms within moments,
ready to take me down.
I brace myself for the dissent,
then see your eyes, and I waiver.
I slip and descend into the steadfast tide,
gasping for air, I hear your words:
“I don’t think it could work.”
What would have been tears if I were not soaked,
fill my eyes.
I give in to the fierce arms of the ocean.
Because you were the start of my decline,
and the beginning of my dreams.