The loving

The day you meet. So innocent and special. The smiles, the yearning, the hope. You aren't jaded in those moments. Your hurts fall away, you forget you don't trust, you forget you aren't a believer. You fall prey to the twinkling eyes, the precious smiles, you believe the tales. You believe the stories, you want to believe the stories, and the endings.

The living

You become a person you won't recognize. You tell yourself what you need to hear, what you want to believe. You make up your own endings. You create stories to salve the small wounds you suffer, the broken dreams of perfection. There is still hope, there always is. It's a dream after all, you can still find yourself among the clouds you dwelled in when it all began, right?

The leaving

The wounds turn to scars. You become wise, and you return to yourself. What were the dreams you had? But you had them once before, didn't you learn? Didn't a part of you know? Of course. But the wanting got in the way, it blinded you, the wanting. You were so sure, so sure. And now again, walking on that path.......hoping no one sees you in the dark, where you are once again alone.