The hopeless romantic

My nineteen-year-old self was a dreamer, a romantic, and a budding poet too.

A hopeless romantic I am
The dreamer who never stops dreaming
And for what?
A smile, a tear
A lost cause they say
But I say not
I can’t help but love him
I can’t help but dream
That one day he’ll join me
In a dream I mean
And there we’ll spend eternity
Never to wake again.


I am much older now. But I am still a dreamer. I am  the enduring  hopeless romantic. And the poetry, it forever flows.




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