I was meant to have more love than this
and yes even I, am nostalgic.
Frailty may be my antithesis, and frivolity
my adoration, my Great While Whale;
but even I feel its stab, its puncture.
She sat sadly pondering, scheming of
plots to seduce and get lost in.
Schemes came and went, generally
haphazardly and without much regret.
This became its own homeostasis
a perfect perpetual inquisition.
It was a failure to realize that love
only lasts as long as it lasts, no more.