Matthew Crosten

Matthew Crosten Poems

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Live. Love. Burn. Die

Falling in love is like trying to learn to ride a bike.

When they get moving, They start off wobbly. Unsure of the direction it's going. Severe perseverance. Your so mentally scared that you try not to think of the wreck that may happen in the future. But you keep going. You want to learn about the bike and the intended path of travel you are going on. Including all of it's obstacles on the way. Trash cans. Arguements. Curbs. Lies. And most importantly, pedestrians. Heartache.

When you start to gain control the perseverance turns to potential. Your head is up high. The obstacles seem less large. And your mentality is stable and content with your intended path of travel. You start to gain trust in yourself and the bike, for how far you've two have gotten. The things you've got through in order to be where you two are now. And no longer is heartache an option.

Though eventually there is always that space between a rock and a hard place. Potential turns to dispondency. Since you have gained so much trust into this bike in which you've gained acustomed to, you crack. Like a break through a sidewalk you come apart through the first wreck for what seems like forever. And you fall. Hard. And we all know the first serious wreck is hard to come up from. As your head hits the curb every ounce of pride flows out of you inside. Your body tightens up with every memory of what seemed like all of the good times you and your bike have had.
The next few weeks still hurt. You have totaled your heart along with your bike. You stay in bed forever with a splitting headache from the impact of the curb. Along with the memory of the whole wreck in general. Dispondency turns to dishonesty. You feel content with yourself yet lied to at the same time. Time has gone by and so have other bikes. You've traveled miles and miles with bikes from everywhere. Yet your body still cringes with the pain and torture of for some reason, still wanting to be with your first real bike. You're first real love.

Falling is to flying. As loving is to lying. You give you take. But in reality? You still hold every ounce of perseverance inside of you. Because you know you've only did what you felt was right. And your mind still takes you back to all of the random romances you've had in the past. But you now know that your first bike knows also. It takes two to make. And it takes two to break. You guys did your best. You have lived. You have loved. You have burned. And you have died.

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