Days to Years

[heslopian]

Some people
Never find the right kind of love
you know, the kind that steals
your breath away.
Like diving into a snowmelt.
The kind that jolts your heart,
sets it beating apace.
An anxious hiccuping of hummingbirds wings. "Hummingbirds" in this context needs an apostrophe.
The kind that makes every terrible minute apart feel like hours.
Days.
Years.
Some people flit from one insane possibility to the next.
Never experincing the connection of two people.
rocked by destiny.
Never knowing what it means to love someone else,
more than themselves.
More than life itself, or the promise of something better.
Beyond this world,
More even (forgive me!) than god. Should the first letter of this line be in lower case?
Lucky me, I found the right kind of love.
With the wrong person. This is an excellent close. Just as I was beginning to resent the narrator's chirpy, somewhat judgemental expression of what love is this line unsettles everything I previously thought.

The poem could do with a few more images and other devices to make it a bit more vivid, but otherwise it's a neat, crisp piece with, as I've said, a truly dynamite end. Critique is JMHO. Thank you for the read