An unexpected dusting brushed the front door with the lightest breeze playing during the night. It drifted in like a memory. There would be this day when the realization of the hurt caused would remind me of the futile attempts at love. Trust that some things can last forever are mere traps within my own mind that give way to a reality of a broken life. Much can be gained with honesty and the co-dependent pattern of the life we weave results not in the everlasting fairy dust of a charmed life, but in the consequence of reason where we are forced to take stock and come to learn the boundaries of our soul. Love is not all that it is cracked up to be. There is a time for it certainly in the delusional instincts that drive our primal ways. But it is temporary as the time spent painting a painting to capture the essence of a time long past. Words are just that and do not always manifest through the desirable actions of our counterparts. No, we are not born into it and our path is a solitary glance of what is possible, nothing more. Our attempts at a better life are squelched by the noise of those that would have us know better. But I say now to you that I have no regret to carry onward as certain as the dusting of my desire will soon melt.
A woman wonders with tangled thoughts about the time it takes to find love.
A man says nothing but remains vigilant on his own betterment, hoping one day she will notice.
She wants love with the kind of trusting passion told in fairy tales.
He understands this but waits in the shadows of social media and the guise of friendship.
He wants to give her everything and show her devotion.
There are times when the risk is too great, hampered with doubt and uncertainty.
Another day passes, and quaint exchanges are made, likes are like splinters of truth begging for more to be said.
He focuses instead on his imperfect life, striving to become his best so that one day she will see him
She searches her soul with lightness masking the heaviness of her heart’s desire
Others are surely a better fit for her
She is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen
Surely a nicely made man with tattoos and creative luck trailing his life like you see in the magazines are meant for her
He knows he is not this man
But he continues to find his best self, continues to like
While all others adorn her, he chokes on simple hellos and wonders at the time it takes to find love
He wonders at the time it takes to accept his self, to find her, to let her know
She trails off like a bright star in the night, unaware
He settles in watching snow accumulate like too many words stuck in his thoughts
Maybe sometimes the best of a person is speaking without fear of rejection