to choose - an original poem

In the twilight, on the dusk,
to dust, we go to rust.
Holding hands to never think,
one day you would have to leave.

Wanted to be more with me,
More the world I want to see,
Discover what I want to do,
What was it I meant to be.

Seasons pass, I come back to see
That was never meant to be.

But for what was and is,
I have lost something for me.

Did I manage to find or lose?

Perhaps I was never meant to choose.