I cry for a bridge that burnt

I cry for a bridge that burnt, 
And a love that grew old and died. 

And how does a love die? 
Does it grow old? 
Does it grow fat? 
Does it rot in the sun? 
Or does it fester in the night? 

Does old love burn away with time? 
Or does it burn you away in time? 
Does it stink and grow ugly? 

Where once something was perfect, 
Now it has grown flawed. 
Where once something was muscular, 
Now it has grown obese. 
Where once something was healthy, 
Now it has withered into anorexia. 
Where once something was certain, 
Now it is ambiguous. 

So what happens to that special something? 
Does it always remain so special? 
Even when the flowers have withered? 
Even when the leaves are drooping? 

So what happens to a heart that failed? 
Does it learn to love again? 
So what happens to a love that lost? 
Does it find itself again? 
So what happens to a love deferred? 
Does it feign to be dead? 

Or does it cocoon through winter, 
And blossom in the spring. 

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