Making It Real, Relationships and Love

Blinding Truth

Seeing with unshaded eyes is not easy.
It's not easy seeing you in bright daylight.
It's not easy knowing you have left.
It's not easy believing you unkind. 

I'd prefer seeing you behind purple-pink lenses.
Your actions matching your words.
I'd prefer seeing you in the dark, 
where I can pretend.
Pretend you... really care.
You really like me. 

Pretend you are the person I dreamt about,
the one the winds promised in fall. 
You, who came in winter.
But the sun has risen. Truth stands like a naked scarecrow
among the pale, winter grass.
Arms outstretched with nothing to hide.

It shows me what I need to know,
though I try and shade my eyes. 
The blinding truth is... you are not my lover.
You are not my friend.

You are only window dressing, someone who pretends.
A stage, a mask, a character that plays the part so well. 
And I the audience, suspending my belief until the curtain is drawn, 
house lights come on, and I return home to my bed, alone. 

This searing light, this truth will also heal.
It will bind my wound.
It will shine its love. 
I will be whole again, and walk in spring, 
when green shoots poke up from the ground.

I will hold this treasure, this truth tightly to me,
as the day directs my path.
Someone else will come holding the light and love.
You will fade into a distant memory,
a small frostbite upon my cheek,
A wind with no name. 

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