Life itself is my love,
Unmatched and unrequited.
At least that’s how it feels.
Life seems like a jealous lover,
Not that I’d know of lovers and jealousy.
Though I assume life’s intrigued by me
Is that even a possibility?

Nonetheless, we make quite a pair.
For life and I, we know no boundaries.
Every breath is a dare from passion,
every day is a kiss with time
and every sleep is a flirt with death.
Do you think life loves me yet?

Either way, I still love life.
I find peace between the rainbow rings of the moon.
I find hope in the stream of light from the window.
I find the lust for life in the lines of poetry.
Life may not love me, but I love life.
Is that not enough to live for?