Trust and love are abstractions,
Existing only in our minds.
We trust and love with ease,
Permitting these concepts
And when they fall dismally short
We forget that we made them what they are.
If my ideal of love is not yours
Then is that my fault?
I loved you once, and powerfully
And though that love has mellowed it remained.
Until.
Shattered by events, it was broken.
A heart can mend and the soreness dull, but trust is irreplaceable.
You have broken me, though my heart remains intact.
My love for you can live in spite of itself,
But my trust lies shattered.
Each waking moment is not what it was,
Contains thoughts that should not breathe.
I am heartbroken and unforgiving.
Alone now, I hate you for making me so.
For love is pure in its abstraction.
When we weep, it comforts us,
When we fall, it lifts us,
When we need it, is there without question.
It does not dither and dally, pondering.
It does not give in to selfish thoughts of self-preservation but flies
To where it is needed.
And I feel its absence.
But I write these silly words and weep
And erase the lines I might have written for fear my heart is blackened.