I fell in love on the sixth of September when you looked at me for the very first time. Your eyes told me that in every curse there was a blessing to be found, and perhaps you were the godsend I was searching for. If I turned to my right, my past was sitting right beside me. My past had the blackest brown eyes I had ever seen, and was quietly waiting to grab me by the wrists and let me know just how much damage I had done. My past had not seen the light of day since the twenty-third of August three years ago.

If I turned to my left I was able to find the lesser of two evils, or so I was to believe. It was brighter, more promising, to turn this way although going to the right was all I had ever known. I thought you were the way out, I thought you were the ironic twist of this tug-of-war, yet I find that turning to you is more painful than looking upon the past.

You are not my future, my present, nor my past. You are the blue eyed objective who will be nothing but a dream, as my past sits beside me laughing.