What is love?
is it big or small,
does it float above
or does it fall?

Will it cause folks
haphazardly to meet,
in line for smokes
or in the street?

Do you ever really know?
or are you just supposed to go,
carried by the wistful wind,
does it even matter in the end?

I’ve grown to hate
these winds of fate,
they’re content just moving air,
with no reason behind how or where.

My destiny is not for me,
how could it ever be?
a gentle breeze fills the trees,
it makes my stomach ill at ease.