I thought it is love, it may be.
In her eyes I was fond for the while.
A fondness to not be shared.
-Other things were her future and it was a fact.
I will wrap this piece of her around my head.
In time we part, I loose the act.
You will forget me as we part.
To prove her wrong is my expectation.
A grave err on my behalf.
Regret is the sub for my misplaced facade.
Too strange to try, too rare to give up.
These others around are pale to me.
How can I find another, as the best?
My thoughts are hers.
Holding me from, I consider her often.
I am no longer in her eyes.
Her fondness has found more fitting grounds.
Another will be parted.
Or another will be hers?