When the hurt is overwhelming, I sink inside my mind.
In that moment, the mixture, the symphony is respite.
The soft of one, hard of the other.
The chivalry of one, demands of the other.
The gentle words of one, the harsh curses of the other.
The sweet hopes of one, the dark fantasies of the other.
It’ll never be, my dark knight in white armor. It’s just a dream.
To accept the limitations,
To enjoy the experimentations,
To tolerate the lack of ministrations,
To be at peace with adaptations.
My neediness resigned. My fantasy remains hidden. My world in reality?
Is the love enough to curse the hurt away?
Is his heart strong, can it keep mine in play?
Can the needs of our family keep my needs at bay?
Can MY heart handle this constant sway?
These chains that keep me, bind me, to a life I should hold dear, are they deformed?
The reality is simple, the fantasy complex,
The reality neglects, the fantasy expects,
The reality agrees, the fantasy objects,
The reality is limited, the fantasy reflects.
In this moment, the mixture, the symphony, is respite.
But then the hurt returns.
And I do it again.
I torture myself.
For neither has an end.