I’m not feeling something unique,
but I write poetry about your rough hands
and play the echos of your words to lull me to sleep.
This love isn’t new,
it was created on the seventh day,
because my only rest is in your arms.
This love isn’t special,
but only you know my mood based on the shade of blue in my eyes.
I’ve become numb to our cosmic coincidence.
It’s been happening since the dawn of time;
Romeo loved Juliet,
Harry met Sally,
and somewhere amongst the stars
we found ourselves making something grandiose
out of our ordinary love.
No one will read about us,
or see us on screen,
but my life will be defined by you
and this everyday, old as dirt love.
– Liz Loughran