What concerns me most about their generation is how they view people as disposable

This is a poem about a great, impossible, and forbidden love. In the realist’s sense of the world, it’s impractical and never meant to be. Oceans, countries, and continents stand in the way, along with complicated politics and frustrating attempts to obtain visas. Access to one another is, for the most part, blocked by financial differences due to politically affected economies, and a mountain of bureaucracy, yet for some reason unknown, there remains all the patience in the world. And although they don’t always understand each other, somehow they always do, perhaps in a way that surpasses language itself. Society demonizes such a collusion, seeing them as enemy nations conspiring,…

I still don't know why the memories drudge back to the forefront of my mind over two years later.