Evading the Inevitable Pretense of Love
(or, Running Through a Thick Forest Wearing a Blindfold Trying to Avoid the Trees)
You cast away my lonely sighs.
Left traces of yourself behind.
You filled my head with pointless thoughts.
Left my heart full of fruitless hope.
You kept me waiting for an answer.
"He would not do this. He could not do that.
Could he? Would he?"
All is possible in the waiting game.
Some call it love.
Some call it fate.
I've labeled the game a useless weight.
Conjured Up By:
Morgan Z. Poro