"Young love" you said
Was all it was -
We were nothing but a leftover
Of flesh and bone from
An innocent mistake of the kind
A three year old makes while spelling out his name,
And we had exchanged love in a barter
With no strings attached,
In a place where we weren't allowed to hope against hope,
In the hopes of getting a perfect summer escapade.
And in an instant then you muttered
With disgust filled words,
And a mouth that tasted like regret -
"It was nothing more than a lousy love"
I nodded in agreement while wishing you knew
You couldn't be more wrong.
As it happens then,
I heard the sound of the door closing shut; the one I've heard so many times that I now dread it.
But as it turns out,
Some things really are impossible to prevent -
Like the sounds of unsaid goodbyes
And whispers of unknown apologies -
The ones we name "young love".