[poetry] When we were young

When we were young, it was so easy to laugh before we understood the depths of the crash.
When we were young, it was so easy to cry when we didn't yet know how much time would go by.
When we were young, it was so easy to love. So easy to glean what we thought real love was.
Now that we're older, now we understand
there is much more to it than just holding your hand.
I would love to go back, to those carefree hours,
When our heads would just rest between thorns on the flowers
and our minds would just wander over fields of dreams
And just wonder what our love and lives would mean…


[some words from]
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.