Corinthians was wrong,
3500 hundred years ago, maybe it was different,
Or maybe they just didn't write it down well,
All those different hands.
In that moment when you're
Holding someone's hand,
Knowing it won't be that hand
That you watch wrinkle,
But you hold onto it,
Hoping that one day it
Would be a different hand,
With a ring and a heart
That has your best interests,
Not your just interests for the night.
And your heart knows,
Oh your heart knows so well
That this isn't real,
But it'll race,
Because it's still naive.
Fake love, in all its hormones,
All its cruelty,
It's a good actor,
Tells a great lie to the heart,
Kind of like those raindrops,
You prayed would beat the others,
Running down the window,
Fleeting as the sun dries its life,
You rooted for rain till it matched
The tears rolling down your cheeks,
Those nights you felt you weren't good enough,
Those nights when Real Love was jealous,
Of fake love,
When Corinthians was wrong.
I like to write; point blank. This is a little piece of me that I get to share with the rest of the world, and hey, you know, maybe you'll appreciate it, maybe it'll do nothing for you. But my writing exists, and that's enough for me.
© 2019 Silvia Iorio. All rights reserved.