Is it so wrong that I cling to the happy remnants of a love lost?
Live in a world of my own imagination?
Acknowledge the possibilities of new sparks, but do not fuel them?
It's not apathy, it's just survival.
I'm happier a square peg. I enjoy free flight.
I love to ride my bike into the rushing wind.
Pedal as fast as I can until the muscles of my legs burn,
and then just fly.
I love to feel the sun on my face.
Freckles forming, damage done, but not without reward.
I love to put a smile on a face.
Give a compliment, crack a joke, lend a hand.
Be a friend.
But my heart is mine now,
and it is blanketed by my imagination.
My love is distributed in innumerable directions,
so that it remains unbiased.