Is there really any point in this?
This painted lie of everlasting love
you portray on a canvas of sorrow.
And I worry, not only about
your tangled web of problems,
but of the fading fact that you probably don't see.
I m i s s y o u .
I wouldn't if I saw you much more.
Though we can hardly foolishly place the blame
solely on a single shattering heart,
belonging to me.
Or you.
Because it's not the blame we need.
It's a conversation, filled with truths.
Be serious.
What's wrong?
I see heartache playing in your eyes,
a film reel stuck on loop,
forever.
Or as long as you care to hide it.
Attempt, should I say.
But there's no fooling me,
I know your habits too well.
What's wrong?
Your words, they escape from your mouth
dripping in clever lies
and unpredictable realities,
shattering my heart and soul
like a mirror, that mournfully reflects our lives
woven together,
amongst each other for eternity you promised.
But promises are just words
unless they are fulfilled.
Maybe you can't see it,
an answer.
Just take a minute out of your life
to help the one you love,
the one who loves you so dearly in return,
help her, she needs it,
not for herself
but for you.
Her heart, her soul, her life,
she lives for you.
Sleepless, tear-filled nights
spent wishing,
hoping,
dreaming,
for a fairy tale romance,
one she thought you would provide.
Your words sting like salt
in a wound of fading hope.
Words that pledged a love
so dear and life-consuming.
You meant it,
she thought.
Help her.
She needs it, for your sake.
Help her to help you.
