Hope is a prison
I loved what was promised, explained, all the words spun from the fantastical images of your mind, only to find it was another web of lies.
But in time Ive learned, loving the thought of someone is just you holding a candle being burned by both sides. One side your own expectations, even if they were formed upon spoken words and movements; and the other, their actions and intentions.
Now I recognize how fickle your love was, how quickly the push and pull came, like an uncertain sea fighting gravity.
I was naive to believe what you said, the incredible timing, as if you were waiting for the moment, a promise to feed every fantasy of love and adoration. That the person you were before was the worst of you and not who you truly became.
But your mask began to crack, watching shattered pieces fall to the floor, as the kids and I stepped on the same sharp edges you held onto before.
It was never about either of us being perfect, it was about loving the imperfections, even the days when the storms were rough for us both. But just like before, you let us capsize once more, and once more I stared into the abyss, hoping.