What is beauty but a cure for ugliness?
What is infatuation but a whim of the heart?
What is companionship but a shallow veil of comfort over the inevitability of a lonesome death?
What is love but desperation?
Why do we erratically run after that which cannot be caught
and perspire at the thought of losing what we do not possess?
Why do we hold hands, kiss, and look deeply into each other’s eyes?
Why do we breathe slower on rainy Sunday mornings?
How come hands clutch necks in both love and hate?
How come tears keep falling and begging in different times for the same thing –
save me, save me, save me.
How come hands forget their place in the dusk of age?