Wishful Thinking

This is poetry with more words. This is story-telling with a voice. This is love and hate and screaming and crying and laughing and running and trusting and regretting and lust. This is real life.

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3. To the Love I have to get Over

I felt the blow to your head like it was to my own.

I felt your gut-wrenching pain like it was gripping my muscles; like it was pounding its way across my forehead.Laying on the grass in startling white contrasting against the dark you laid like an angel.My love how sad you looked and I couldn't help but think: My how heaven would look with weeping angels such as this one.Light everything laid against the grass as an internal battle mimicked a tight rope walker.The line was thin and blurry; The right and wrong were not determined.To go up and see or to stay back, busying myself with shielding others from the sniffling scene.Empathy raged faster than I thought it ever could.It coursed through my veins more, faster than my own blood.To go up and see or to stay back, watching and withering in your own pain from a distance.In that moment though, the weeping angel brought across the best thought I've had in a long time.In that moment, white against black; pain against your lovely face, I found love.I found something inside of me that was willing to trust; willing to hand my heart over once again if only it meant to see you cry like that once more.The vulnerability itself shows humane through its cracks.

I found trust in myself again.I found trust in you again.I found love in myself again.I found love in you again.I love you.

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