Alone in winter

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.