Wrong

A hand.
It traces her jawline tentatively as if to commit each detail to memory in the fear that after today, he may no longer be blessed with the right to do such a thing.
The feeling is mutual.

A tear.
As it cascades down the length of her face, he swiftly brings the pad of his thumb up to catch it, promising that it doesn't have to end like this.
They both know it does.

A love.
Something so pure, so deep, so... perfect seizes in lasting forever.
All good things must come to an end, it's only now that they realise that.

A heart.
It breaks. It snaps. It falls. It needs saving.
Her heart is beyond the point of return, her saviour is hidden far away.

A life.
You're born, you live, you die.
Is there any meaning to it? Any substance? Or is it just one big game of false pretences and agonising heartbreak you put yourself through because you have to?

Hurt.
He hurts. She hurts. Everybody hurts.
But you do it because it's the right thing for everyone... right?

Wrong
♠ ♠ ♠
Please read and comment. It's the first poem I've probably ever written without being forced to, so it would really mean a lot and I'd love to know what you guys think of it. Constructive criticism is welcomed too!