My fingers run into momentary lapses of genius... or perhaps they find the tangible more satisfying at times.
(They grow weary of my melodramas... don't you?)

Something to hold onto to...
is it so much better...
than the idea of love?
Do we grasp too hard to what we have?
Forgotten; what we long[ed] for.

Settling... it reeks of weakness.
I digress, much.

And with no time to type... and so much to say... my fingers run...

Notthe7