this is real life

I wrote something beautiful about you. 
It made me feel alive and validated... in the mushy, kid- like way. Where for a moment the wisdom of age and innocence of new love met. Magical feelings that sprinkle like fairy dust. 
It represented all that we had accomplished together.
I felt love, in love and I wanted you.
Today what I write to you is broken and bruised.
It's shaded with graphite pencil, darker in its core. 
I don't feel that magical, colorful, wistful love.
I feel the havy, dirty, mud stuck to the bottom of my boots, the ones that don't fit me in the first place.
I am wet, knuckles bleeding, fists clinched, teeth shifting back and forth as my Jaw viciously controls each movement. 
Their is a big storm brewing... the storm chasers won't be able to catch it. Mother nature can't stop it.
I will hide in the bunker, hope for sunshine in the morning and will venture to explore the destruction, alone, tired, wet, knuckles bleeding, fists clinched, teeth shifting. 
I am all but love and light today. Lone ranger. 

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