Like lightning storms in a glass bottle;
the idea seemed magical at first, does it not?
Colours bursting, sparks galore.
But how long?
Will it take for the bottle to burst?
To shatter into a million jagged pieces.
All too ready to hurt;
To hurt the both of us.
Maybe, it was my fault.
For trying so hard.
I tried so hard to strip you down into words,
To capture your energetic soul and turn it into –
Blue ink on yellowed pads.
You are a kind of art on your own,
The kind I was mesmerized and clueless about.
Maybe I was too persistent and insistent
On moulding you into my version of perfection.
Honey, you are Picasso’s prized Mona Lisa
and I tried to warp you into
Darlin’, you belong in the Louvre,
to catch the eyes of millions just by existing.
and I foolishly tried to cage you in Shakespeare’s Globe.
Maybe this is goodbye,
Maybe this is me walking away.
This is me leaving you be,
Sparing us both the pain,
Setting you free from me.