I hate this lie.
This lie of life,
that hard times pass.
I know it's only been over a month.
But I still feel as raw,
as emotional,
and as lost as I did the first night.
It is no one's fault but my own.
No one's fault but my own that I am now just as you were.
In a loveless antirelationship, where being a priority is swept away
in the winds of emptiness and negative emotion.
Where no longer may I call you beautiful.
No longer may I tell you I love you.
No longer may I dream of our future.
Those privileges, now lost, because a lack of maturity was found.
And when that lack of maturity became no more, so did the vessel of those privileges.
Now, my words mean nothing. Just static noise in a field of empty desolate flowers, a noise now falling on deaf ears. And when those ears do listen, they do not believe, or even consider me. Deservedly so.
Now, I am no longer your solace. No longer your peace.
i am a sword
an object meant to hurt, kill, and amputate
the object i was
but i may be crafted into a nail
an object meant to build, fortify, and secure
the object i desire to be
to help build.
a process of creation
a nail could make a once ruined place into a home you may be proud of
but only if the blacksmith desires
strongly wish for or want
but a nail can not build if the blacksmith does not desire to use it
YOU ARE THE BLACKSMITH
to put the effort
a vigorous or determined attempt
you have my effort and my thoughts
I JUST NEED YOUR ACCEPTANCE
into such endeavors.
a journey to achieve a goal
this is something i am wholeheartedly ready to begin
THE LAST STEP IS FOR YOU TO LET ME IN
