The forgotten ruins mold themselves to life
Forming a haunted house of memories
Bringing to naught the moments once cherished
Backed by a juvenile notion that it’d be for eternity
Yes, eternities often end on Mondays
With texts preceding the alarm
Just to ensure the day starts
In a remarkably dishonorable way
The heart still asks questions
Was there a better way it would have loved?
Was there a better way it would miss its beats?
Was there any, other than this it knows to date?
In the end life gives choices
And the heart picks the best on the table
Perhaps the path trodden before
Ceased bringing awe to the beholder
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