Our love was a beautiful tragedy,
we flourished from the taste
of its existence,
the way we reacted and acted was
like that of a giggling pair of youths.
But we lacked maturity,
good times could not only be the
falling into his eyes,
what did it truly mean?
Listening to and sharing tales,
the mutual opening up of
and while information was privileged,
I sometimes felt ill-equipped
to properly advise or comment.
The tragedy behind our
wall of defensiveness against the world,
our fortress of affection
which was mean to enclose,
preserve our magic,
only to be seen, admired, and envied
at certain times by others
when we decided to be on display,
the tragedy was that our perfect little bubble
was our downfall,
and a lacking of self-understanding
on part of one or both –
perhaps specifically one,
perhaps it was me.
The absence of self-awareness,
a reasoning and knowledge
of what was required,
what was necessary for the
growth of the heart
could cause a cacophony,
reverberations to be felt and heard
for many an eve.
Now truly seems the time to heal,
I must attempt this;
we must try our best to repair,
cannot have one or the other disappear,
a desire rise to vanish into thin air.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Morgan Sessions on Unsplash
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