To me, there is no definition…
except that in the end,
it always hurts.


Written in 1983

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Love

  1. Anonymous says:

    You are such an interesting person. I imagine there is some truth to this, but as far as I can tell there is hurt in the beginning, middle, and I guess for many the end too. My end to “Love” hasn't come, so I guess I will have to wait and see. I like how you say “there is no definition” so true. Tommy G.

  2. Jira says:

    This poem was based on watching my mother's relationships fall apart one after another. That and my own teen disappointments.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.