~Beach, Pasta, Melachony, Closure~

Walking on the beach,
Pangs of melancholy hitting me,
Hard,
Like the white water from the deep ocean.
Remember?
When we first came here,
There were people cleaning beach litter.
None of those matters,
For we were going to the little white cabin for pasta.
White Bolognese sauce on top.
Like our love, pure, yet full of delicious surprises.
My heart ache.
I thought of you.
I thought of me, myself.
Why do I think of you when I am the most vulnerable?
The Rose, blaring from my cellphone,
it is a flower,
and you,
its only the seed.
----
Lies the seed,
that with the suns love,
in the spring,
becomes The Rose>
A plane cut across the sky,
The loud noise pierce through my heart.
Suddenly, I was ache no more.
I pick up the phone,
To tell you I am fine.
Much to my surprise,
You texted me.
[You should only know that, you have the gene of beauty in you]

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This crude, crappy poem-y thingie was inspired by a blog entry by a friend of mine.
Ha!