I used to think real-life love stories were as easy as the owl and the pussycat’s. I used to think that a song and a guitar could make it last. That a dance by the light of the moon is enough. But he is no owl, nor I was a cat. We were two grown-ups who lost our foolishness. Who stopped believing in the magic of the stars. Who stopped yearning for a pea-green boat by the shore. Who stopped walking hand in hand. Ours is the real life and theirs was a fairytale. We were no longer naive. We had too much reasons in between. It is sad but it is true.
The moon remembers
Good ol’ times of make-believe
With a woeful sigh
My earliest fascination of owls started in grade school when we were asked to reenact Edward Lear’s The Owl and the Pussy-Cat. Looking at it now, it seems to be a nonsense poem but, back then, it was sweet love story for the little me. ❤
Ah, how time changed love and our idea of love.
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