Free writing, playing with form…
Penning the words of the lovesick, immersing my soul in their misery. Give unto me those days of carefree joy, when I knew two lovers holding hands, teasing one another with a glance, hoping for moments alone and those kisses where eyeglasses bumped against one another and awkward were the groping touches, when he said he loved her. She was the dream he ne’er dared to hope for. But his was a plight of circumstance and fear. Hers became that of a broken heart.
The heat of her heart threatened to burn her bones to ash when a cool breath from the north tempered her fiery destruction. Thirsting for any precious drop of water in her desert, his distant offerings nourished in ways she couldn’t have anticipated. His promises were broad and hopeful and passionate. He said he loved her. He was the dream she ne’er dared to hope for. But hers was a plight of circumstance and fear. His is that of a broken heart.Lessons dealt and lessons learnt; I finally see the truth of it. I was beholden to one and one was beholden to me, Neither can circumvent reality. And neither shall belong to me. I write of love that’s lost, love that will never be. Pain is reflected in every unwitting deception, The brilliance of a lover’s manipulation, The heart trusting in temptation.
For me, I shall stay the course, so that not even an arrow of Eros could force me off my path of contrite resignation; he can keep his bow behind his back and move on to a target willing to receive his misleading dart.
(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/17084757@N00/389954025/”>Glikò</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>)