Which Day Falls the Dream

Love comes, and love goes. We all know this , and yet for the preservation of sensibility and face the sin persists—denying affection’s course.

You hold my hand, soothing softly my gnawing realizations. I watch your eyes, still so warm upon my frail form. You play the part, actress on the stage of my delusion, the lover, the confidente, the rock and salvation. I smile and nod, unable to speak the horrible truth. Days and weeks run together until the squares on the calendar lose all meaning.

We beat and beat the drum of romance’s heady rhythm. Heaven and Earth rejoice in song set to a tempo of happily-ever-after and tinkling bells. Our feet step the pattern, pad to the sound, add to the delerium. Nothing falls out place. Nothing falters. Nothing lays amiss as we dance and dance like it’s the weekend of forever, free of cares, released from the tedium of life that laps so steadily to erode the foundations of fantastical infatuation.

All the same, we both know it’s Wednesday.

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