That things were just different.
Easier to digest.
To be the prototype of your expectations
Or even just understanding of your limitations.
That life protected us enough, to trust
what our hearts tell us,
That we continue to hang on to the things that helps frame us.
But our minds are equip to barr away anything that we expect to hurt us,
Sometimes love puts on a costume to hide what it feels inside,
Timid and shy
Looking like that monster of uncertainty we try to hide from when the feeling isn’t right.
History writes sad stories of pain even while a new story emerges,
And your pain is more important than me, powerful enough to destroy us.
I wish that
Things could be better between you and me
Or at least good enough to start over
But after a year of you and me I’m starting to think that this is merely fantasy.