If the time machine wasn’t just wishful thinking. I would go back to our sweet beginnings, Spending days where it felt so natural. Days with no animosity, no anger, jealousy or regret.

No despair, like I feel through my entire being. I hate having to know that you’re cutting me with your oblivious facade, goes left unspoken. I’m left grieving over something that would provide us both happiness that could very well be imperishable.

Like most who have been on earth as long as ourselves, they don’t know patience. As well as don’t realize or acknowledge the benefits our elders recognized and still treat as a virtue.

It devastates my internal spirit that my nearly all the appreciated times we share are when humans vulnerable. We lie there together, both in our own bliss. I gracefully touch my lips to your cheek. When you utter a non-seductive sound, I hear the sincerity in your vocal cords as they flow into my ear and drift straight to my heart. It is only then I begin to remember why I invest in this bank with no reciprocation.

I don’t demand anything from your pockets, wardrobe or any material possession. I just desire the return of love and companionship. Your presence makes my heart feel whole again, and I shower you with love. The affection I try to give to you is forced away with your inappropriate giggles or illusionist approach. I didn’t know becoming sincere with someone who has so much significance in my life would be worse than marrying a inattentive enchanter.

I’ve undergone heartbreak without closure. I perceived I was safe enough to open my welded vault of three years. All caused by 14 months of disregarded tender intellect that left this heart in fragments that would never be able to become what it once was. If ever a heart is shattered into pieces, it’s impossible to bond the sentimental epicenter entirely back together. Like a mirror that an infuriated queen breaks when it reveals to her, her true disposition.

I wish my mirror wouldn’t be destroyed again, because each time someone’s heart is treated like a football, some pieces are always left behind. I don’t need a bread crumb trail of glass to my grave. However, this is life, and we don’t always get what is desired. Those who came before will find themselves desiring what they gave away, and it will lead them only to my tomb that they all played a part in building.