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Wyrd bið ful aræd.

Again alone we stand. How many times have we been down this same road before? Our personal green mile, condemned for crimes we never committed. Weeping and trying to pick up the pieces, and yet we cannot but continue to be true to the beating of our heart, the truth of our spirit, the authenticity of our soul.

We didn’t see this one coming, did we? Masterfully executed. Venomous. Ironic, isn’t it? The more powerful the poison, the less of it is needed to do the damage. “Why?” I cry. “Shhh, my love”, you say, “Trust”. “Why all this cruelty?” I keep on wailing. “Hush, my darling”, you say, “Trust”, while we gently caress each other’s wetted cheeks. This ever-sparkling spirit of yours I have always adored, Leon, my Brighteyes, is already rising above this pettiness, but the mark left by the shadow in your gaze cannot be concealed. Or forgiven. The hurt caused to you, aches me, enrages me, never will I forget this look in your eyes.

But this one I promise you. Once the tears stop burning their fiery trails on my face, once the blood from my open heart wound stops dripping onto the ground, it will be over. Less than a faint whisper in the wind, less than a vague memory from a fading dream. Finished. Like it never existed.

After all it was nothing but a pipe dream. Poof! Already gone. See?

Plutonia of SolitaryThinkers,
September 2015